tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57040552548701212562024-03-04T22:41:39.149-08:00MRS JOHN CLAGGART'S SAD LIFEThe Widder Claggart speaks about music new and old, the malady of opera, art, life, death, people detested and not detested -- the detested are in the majority amidst much else.Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-14401764604016678422015-10-26T11:38:00.001-07:002015-10-28T13:36:33.322-07:00SEARCHING FOR NUMBNESS IN THE ARTS: The average Opera News reader has an income of $323K<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The average Opera News reader has an income of $323K. Interesting. According to Publisher's Daily in an article dated 8/26 by Eric Sass "Philistine," (sorry Eric, you wrote, publisher), Diane Silberstein noted: “The September issue has been our most successful in advertising revenue since 2007. Luxury marketers are tapping into our affluent and influential audience and we are pleased to welcome new luxury brand advertisers to the traditional mix as we begin a new era for Opera News.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Continuing with Mr. Sass: "According to the publisher, Opera News has a rate base of 100,000 with an average household income of $323,107 and a median age of 56. 88% have college degrees and 60% have a post-college degree."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Well, THAT should fill the seats! I wrote extensively for opera news all through the 1990's, I think my last article might have been in 2001. I am hated by editorial eminence greasy, Brian Kellow who even directs current writers NEVER to speak to me. I was very happy his Sue Mengers bio got bombed in the Times, bad idea (there was nothing interesting about her but a kind of agent/hooker chutzpah that worked for her briefly -- she was my twin Albert's agent for a time and we saw her in action. Italian has a word for what she had, "furbezza"; she was "furba" -- sly but stupid. Anyway, her luck ran out and she lived like a beached whale 'til her loxentod.) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">I thought Kellow's ghastly toilet books on Pauline Kael and Eileen Farrell were ludicrous, even though that asshole Frank Rich LOVED the Kael. Well, he'd been her disciple and had learned her lesson well. "Fuck the art, serve yourself!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">He did for years as the Times' phenomenally agile bandwagon hopping theater reviewer, quite the feat given his fat. He was a much better writer than the nullity they have excreting reviews there now, improbably, once a West Village Hipster avid for ... use... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Those two ladies, Kael, and Farrell were much more interesting people (Eileen especially, who had hidden depths and camouflaged complexities) than Kellow can comprehend. It's a bottom feeder without even the talent to bottom feed and it's been a sexual trauma his whole worthless life -- although like a dogged clerk he did unravel Kael's complicated and much dissembled "real life". </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">At Opera News, I worked for the dreamy and somewhat indecisive Patrick J Smith (Kellow was darting about the background leaking pus with a hidden dagger). Smith really wanted to produce a substantive journal as far as was possible. But they were hemorrhaging ad revenue and it was hard to determine who was really reading. The new editrix, from the Haute skin zines, probably has the right idea, sell opera as an excuse for expensive travel, elegant clothes and as the art of the wealthy. It's a return to an older model of the magazine. Although I'm told they are not paying writers better (and some are good, I dast not name them for fear of damaging them). But I can't help hope for an agonizing wasting disease and explosions of yellow shit for Kellow. Does that make me a bad person?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The new procuress for Opera News seems, judging from the issue above to be trying for a heterosexual image. One of Kellow's great ideas was the "barihunk" phenomenon, which has probably run out of steam. These were baritones </span><span style="font-size: large;">who had preferred the gym to the voice studio </span><span style="font-size: large;">(usually described as "strapping" </span><span style="font-size: large;">by Anthony Tommasini, "chief music critic" for the New York Times, </span><span style="font-size: large;">a well-trained musician who knows nothing at all about opera --</span><span style="font-size: large;">presumably that was code.) </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a classical barihunk</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was probably a last ditch effort to get "the boys in the backroom" (to quote a gay anthem from the early 1990's) from the sling to the score desk. It didn't work. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">It's a cliché that only gay men and lonely old women like opera. although one might have that impression from going. For many who didn't gravitate to the arts when young, didn't have them imprinted on them, an art form like opera (unlike say, plays or the visual arts) seems esoteric, foreign. Indeed, it <u>is</u> foreign since one of the main failures of opera in America has been its inability to develop an enduring American repertory of viable operas that address all the aspects of life as it has been lived and is being lived now in the country.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But that takes talent and vision. And who cares about those? It's become about bare bones survival now and although some new operas are about American themes, it will remain to be seen if they can become the repertory staples that pull an audience. There is an opera based on Annie Proulx's very short story, <b>Brokeback Mountain</b>, first a notable movie, controversial among gay political sorts for not celebrating the sexual liberation of its two confused closeted cowboys who, nonetheless, fall passionately -- and for one dangerously -- in love ("it's not believable. Why, they would have run to San Francisco.")</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Proulx extended her admirably compact short story to a very long opera libretto, set by the intellectual American composer, Charles Wuorinen. It seems to have been treated as a curiosity. Nothing sings like blighted or forbidden love, but Wuorinen, although greatly accomplished, is not a "singing" composer.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daniel Okulitch and Tom Randle in world premiere of Brokeback Mountain. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Other high-profile recent new American operas have a homosexual subject at least, <b>Crossing</b>, text and music by Matthew Aucoin, which concerned Walt Whitman but is not explicitly sexual, the last Metropolitan Opera offering of an American opera, <b>Two Boys</b>, by Nico Muhly, text by Craig Lukas, about gay chat rooms in the early days of the 'Net, and <b>Oscar</b> about the downfall of Mr. Wilde at Opera Philadelphia. <b>Crossing</b> got enormous attention, <b>Two Boys</b> according to Met sources, drew a solid much younger audience, and <b>Oscar</b> was a dud.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But as far as I know no further performances of any of these operas have been scheduled. The use of homosexuality as a locator of dramatic tension may no longer have much appeal. So maybe those wealthy Opera News readers really just want more Traviatas and anything trendy (that means starring Anna Netrebko or Jonas Kaufmann, although a baritone with a brain tumor can count on a triumph). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Opera News under idiots like Kellow and Silberstein, like the Net and Facebook group, called Opera-L, censored, I mean "moderated" by two moronic fools, "Bob" Kosovsky (Jewish Orthodox but openly gay, he's an oxymoron as well as the usual kind), and his beldam, some preposterous fool, gender uncertain but perhaps female, who uses initials, EJ Michel, is for older people with low IQs and no feeling for art. But wait isn't Kosovsky a Phd? Yes, I assume he did very well at his orals.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Attending the Opera Philadelphia announcement of an ambitious 2017 season, donning my white gloves and leafing through Opera Snooze as it used to be called (ironically in better days) going to the Philadelphia Orchestra concert where "the critic" didn't know anything about any of the works and didn't catch any of the obvious mistakes, and looking at those Internet forums, one sees the death of opera -- of every art -- as a meaningful art form. One gets a glimpse into a very large country where "art" can no longer matter. The sitcom, the sound bite, the clinging for comfort in background noise as the middle-class sinks and the number of desperately poor grows has created a culture where only distraction and multi-tasking matters. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Franz Kafka's musing on what one might look for in art seems now like one of his arcane jokes:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? ...we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the ax for the frozen sea inside us."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">As America gears up for what is likely to be another president paralyzed by a country full of fools and run by the greedy, who wants an ax to crack that frozen sea? They say hypothermia is the pleasantest way to die, and the sweetest route to cessation is numbness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-78904145374554801352015-06-21T22:48:00.000-07:002015-06-22T08:45:21.432-07:00As Callas said about sex ... New Operas Part 2<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fat Callas, Barbieri and ... unknown</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I just decided on that title to see if I could get some attention. Leo Lerman knew Maria Callas very well socially and has some funny stories about her. He was the "Arts" person at the various magazines that were acquired by Condé Nast. They're in the book <b>The Grand Surprise</b>, an extensive (actually endless) compilation of journal entries, letters and the short articles and character pieces he wrote over close to fifty years.<br /><br />But first...<br /><br />After the run down last week, I promised "reviews" or "impressions" of the new works mentioned. For those who happen to trip over this, like baby's first skate left in the shadows on the stairs -- run!!!!<br /><br />My twin, Albert Innaurato, worked with a small (tiny?) opera company here in the city of turds and Weh where the idiot who ran it, a mama's boy "conductor" who was a lot like Bottom in A Midsummer Night's Dream, agreed that for a few years they could try Albert's idea of doing new work in small productions, and developing other new operas. Albert directed a few new operas and worked with a fair number of composers and librettists.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Shops, directed by Albert, rehearsal for American premiere</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Sadly, with the death of arts in America a lot of idiots run these potentially valuable organizations. They get sprayed with RAID -- I mean REALITY -- but they're like roaches. Bottom's back -- tremble!!<br /><br />But in working with all kinds of composers and their librettists (when they didn't write their own texts), Albert realized another art form was largely dead.<br /><br />The theater.<br /><br />None of these people understood that a stage work has to be dramatized. Even though the music is the most important element of an opera and can cover some faults, the "play" being set, must work somehow as a "dramatic action". Almost none of these people knew much about opera. But (though all were phenomenally well educated musically) </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">they</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">and their librettists were totally ignorant about the theater.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />They did not understand that in the operas they did know the story was <i>dramatized</i>, not narrated, hinted at or left somewhere in limbo: suspense, revelation, reversal, surprise and resolution happened in front of the audience. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The question Albert would always ask the composers is "what sings to you in this material?" He was always met with incomprehension. He understood that to mean that the composers had no theatrical instinct. They left it up to the librettist and tried to set what they got.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Nixon in China</b> by John Adams set a ruinous precedent. At least a famous title to these composers and sometimes more, they didn't realize that the pretentious concept of Peter Sellars and the ludicrous text of one, Alice Goodman, wrecked a great idea. Sellars having failed in the spoken theater had no idea how to dramatize a story, substituting the bizarre for revelation. Adams, prodigiously gifted and at his freshest, was sabotaged. It was worse in <b>The Death of Klinghoffer</b>. What should have been a powerful dramatization of what Aristotle would have called "the union of opposites" is an easily misinterpreted mess.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Adams knew too little about how operas really work in a theater and his wonderful musical inventions tended to fall flat in context. The composers we still encounter in the opera house and admire had taken the lead in deciding how to present the story they were setting. (Adams is still among the three most produced American composers of opera in the world, but I think that says more for his gifts than the actual works as a whole).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Philip Glass (the most produced American opera composer in the world) was a huge influence on the younger composers. This was not always for the best. The "minimalism" he developed came from within him after rigorous study along more conventional lines, the influence of that great outsider Morton Feldman, as well as his own firsthand exposure to Indian and Tibetan music.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">He worked in the "experimental" theater of his time, one that abandoned the concept of "author" for free-associative and imagistic confrontations with time, memory, "truth" conflicting with "pretense". His decisions were organic and essential to him. When <b>Einstein on the Beach</b> was given at the Metropolitan Opera (not produced by that company) a huge audience had a transcendental/puzzling/thrilling experience.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">There was the very long parade onstage of the strange, the crazy, the communicative, the obscure accompanied by a remarkable music which only occasionally took an "articulative" place in the proceedings. In the audience the "downtown" arts scene assembled en masse, hipsters attended to get high and groove, the well-heeled and curious were held fast by horror and shock and opera queens stumbled in to be angry ("what, no high notes? No coloratura?") </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The apparent chaos on stage was mirrored by the real chaos in the vast, gilded auditorium as people came and went, danced, screamed, fought, tranced out. It was an explosion, astonishing in that staid place and exactly what the then remarkable Robert Wilson (the architect of it all) and Glass had wanted. And that was the point: where was the "opera"? On the stage or in the auditorium or both simultaneously?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">In an "opera" such as the masterpiece, <b>Satyagraha</b>, Glass focused his talents but avoided "drama" and narrative altogether except for slight hints and saw to it that the focus had to be on sounds by setting glorious music to Sanskrit! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Since those times, Glass has changed much and even distanced himself a bit from that brilliantly cultivated savage of those early days. T</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">he younger Glass was singular, a nuclear blast that mirrored and prefigured a time of rapid change. But he was not someone who founded a </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">school </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">which graduated composers refining and expanding his techniques.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Today, in the new operas that we see, although a straightforward narrative is no longer essential, it is still the most common currency on which a sound "dramatic" structure is erected. So again, even with the few minimalists Albert would ask "how does this technique work for the theater piece you want to make? What </span><span class="" style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">sings</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> in you?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Albert was arrogant enough to think that Verdi in encountering Victor Hugo's play <i>Le Roi s'amuse </i>felt that -- in the opera called <b>Rigoletto</b> --he <b>had</b> to set the scene where the venomous jester </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">rages furiously against the courtiers who have abducted his virginal daughter, the sole love in his life. He tries to break into the duke's chambers -- to save her from being raped. Amused, they stop him. He wrestles with himself (aloud) and then hating himself for having to do it but loving his daughter more, he begs these despicable pigs for mercy on his daughter.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rigoletto - Leo Nucci - begs for mercy for his daughter </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I suspect Verdi only had to read that scene to know that the fury and anguish of this outsider throbbed in him and would sing through him. He knew himself as a creator for the theater, and that this strange story, robbed of Hugo's political agenda and multiple ironies could work. And it has for 164 years.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">But all of this came from the composer. He bullied his librettist into giving him what he needed, only as many words as would do the job, clarify the situations, re-enforce the characters.<br /> <br />I could multiply examples -- Mozart somehow understood (identified with?) the multiple ambiguities in <b>Cosi fan tutte</b>. Perhaps he knew something about circles where the trading of sexual partners went on?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Mozart defied the bullying Archbishop to whom he was bound and ran to Vienna, facing poverty rather than service, a choice that confronts Figaro in <b>Le Nozze di Figaro</b>, and yet I bet he also identified with the endlessly randy Cherubino and even with the sexual urges of the count. I think he fell in love with Susanna as Figaro does, understood the nostalgia and sorrow of the Countess. Again, one of the few great writers who could manage librettos, Lorenzo da Ponte, erased the political and autobiographical obsessions of the playwright, Beaumarchais, and omitted a lot of the intrigue in the play. But knowing Mozart he captured the essentials for what would sing through him.<br /><br />Albert shut up! He (?) will talk your ear off and I'm sure you get the point. In the new operas that have surfaced recently, one finds the same problems that Albert did in that tiny, horribly run company. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Yardbird</b> was by far the most successful of these recent operas, both with the audiences in Philly and with reviewers. It was a wonderful experience and is a good candidate to have a life beyond its next engagement at the Apollo Theater in New York.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brownlee and Brown - mother and son in Yardbird</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">But there were problems with the libretto. Bridgette A. Wimberly, credited with <i>text</i>, did provide singable lines, and the composer, David Schnyder took them and ran. But, where was the drama? If you didn't know anything about Charlie Parker, known as Bird or Yardbird, you were lost. Impressionistic "poetry" touched with sentimentality doesn't tell a story, establish character or motive or add up. Wimberly had no idea how to make clear just who the characters were, and felt no obligation to fashion a dramatic arc leading to an inevitable climax, not just a cliched ending ("you mean we've been seeing Bird's last seconds alive as he, OD-ing, sees his life flashing in front of him? Why, fancy that!").</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">In our America, I suspect quite a lot of people won't know who Bird was, or about Birdland (the people around me at Opera Philadelphia's <b>Oscar</b> only knew the name, Oscar Wilde.Though well enough off to afford expensive seats and presumably educated, they knew nothing of his life). Many opera-goers may not even have heard of Birdland or know much about the great history of American jazz. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">But somehow Ms. Wimberly and Mr. Schnyder think everyone will know who Charlie Parker was, how he lived his life, how he died and who was important to him. And some fool will say, "but this is opera, we don't need to know". But we do. Opera and theater are both about the immediacy of effect, they are about this second, and the next and the next. If one has to wonder, "who the hell is that?" or "what is going on?" then the opera loses its impact.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">This is not a sermon against ambiguity, fantasy, abbreviation, dream sequences, poetic flights. Of course, the life of Bird, like that of Oscar Wilde, would have to be compressed and abbreviated to work in a play, let alone an opera. But just who those white women were and why they had such an interest in Bird is important (and in real life they were interesting people not just female voices to make an ensemble). Why is Bird a junkie, what is his mother doing in the ghostly Birdland? And if you're vague about Charlie Parker are you going to know Dizzy Gillespie? Will you have a notion that they invented bebop, or even know what that is and how it sounds?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Making a libretto, like writing a play, is solving a puzzle. Ms. Wimberly and Mr. Schnyder clearly wanted a tight 100-minute work, one that flowed. So the challenge was to make clear in a theatrical shorthand, what was going on. (The Baroness "Nika" a remarkable jazz age character in New York, is just a lady in a fancy coat in the opera but dramatizing her impact might have made for a richer evening. The scenes between Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie were musically wonderful and very well performed but if you aren't really sure who they were and what their relationship was those scenes didn't "land".)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Archetypal scenes work (Bird and his mother -- although the fantastic Lawrence Brownlee and the charismatic Angela Brown may have had something to do with that) and Schnyder's process, licks from Bird worked into musical cells that combine, intersect, invert and a rhythmic certainty that creates a strong forward movement help the emotional "feel" of the piece, stretches of harmonically enriched bebop are gorgeous to hear. But a scene where Bird and some others wander about in straight jackets in a weird light with no explanation at all, despite the powerful musical interlude under it, had some people around me tittering. (Bird was arrested for drug use after he set a hotel room on fire and institutionalized for a time but who knew from this?)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The challenge is to solve a puzzle not create a "well made" play or even a complete narrative, it's being sure that we know precisely what we need to know, no more, and not ever in a wordy way, to enter this world and be moved by the outcome. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">But Schnyder, who is 53, is one of the two composers of new operas who has developed a personal style (the other, very different, is the amazing George Benjamin, at 54 also a mature artist, in <b>Written on Skin)</b>. Though influenced by "bop" Schnyder uses his own sense of how to build melodies, use complex chords to enrich them, employ classical forms to unite the work and he can write both soaring vocal lines and "scat" -- seeming to arise spontaneously from the ongoing musical discourse of the 14 instruments in the pit (from which Schnyder elicits gorgeous and surprising textures -- as an ironic gesture he does not use Bird's instrument, the saxophone).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Some flabby transitional moments aside the music is magic and may allow the work a triumphant progress, whatever Albert (and I) may think of the libretto.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oscar and Bosie in life</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Oscar </b>presented earlier by Opera Philadelphia was everything that seems wrong with "new operas" written in America. Albert -- my guest for the evening and too large to fit into the small seats of the beautiful but old-fashioned Academy of Music -- was transported back to the conversations with those composers in the tiny opera company. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">He wanted to ask the composer, Theodore Morrison (at 77 one expects he knows his own mind), what sang to him in the libretto presented to him by the very experienced John Cox (a director but functioning as librettist here)?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The opera started with Walt Whitman. What was he doing there? Well, Oscar made a point of meeting him as did many English <i>Uranians</i> of the time but in the opera we didn't see their meeting (which doesn't seem to have been momentous). Walt was there to <i>narrate -- </i>speaking, not singing (sad that Dwayne Croft got only a few chances to show off a still lovely baritone)!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Now, in a play or an opera this is a bad sign. Yes, "show don't tell" is a cliche but it's true. An audience needs to see transactions between characters and learn from them what the creators want to demonstrate; telling them is not nearly as effective.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The idea was to set Oscar up as a celebrity so his fall would be more painful. So we got David Daniels for whom the part was written speaking the curtain speech Wilde gave after the sensational first night of his play <b>Lady Windermere's Fan</b>. Why? And why all this speaking? Twenty minutes in, one was wondering what the opera was about. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Yes, one understands, it's theme was the downfall of a celebrity of the time, a homosexual icon. But how interesting is that? Those who know the sad, sordid tale and its awful end hardly need this carrying on and those who don't know much or anything won't care. What would make them care, empathize, even understand Oscar?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Love.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Albert, being full of himself would have pointed out to Mr. Morrison (a very distinguished man) that <b>NOTHING</b> sings like love. And nothing sings more heartrendingly than thwarted or blighted love. Oscar was in love with Lord Alfred Douglas, known as Bosie, a younger man. Where was he in this opera?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">DANCING!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Apparently influenced by Benjamin Britten's <b>Death in Venice</b>, Morrison and Cox had decided to make Bosie a dancing role, as Tadzio is in the Britten work. But Tadzio is 14 and he never speaks to his stalker, Aschenbach.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">But Bosie was 21 going on 80 when he met Wilde. Unlike </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">the poet, h</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">e was a pervert, having come up through the English "public" school system and enormously experienced in the ways of procuring boys for hire, and the homosexual underground that provided ways for men to meet for sex when sex between consenting adult males was against the law and severely punished.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Oscar was married and a father but naive and found himself passionately in love with the empty headed, selfish and sybaritic Bosie whose appalling father would trigger the events that brought Wilde down.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Now, perhaps in a play one might suggest how shallow Bosie was, how spoiled and superficial, though at the same time highly taken with Wilde, like a wild child who has found a teddy bear to cuddle and torment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">That ambiguity is hard to deal with in an opera (that would take a Janacek who wrote his own texts or the Britten of <b>Turn of the Screw</b> supervising a kindred spirit), and perhaps it's not the point Cox and Morrison wanted to make anyway. So why not make Bosie a character who sings, who interacts with Wilde? Why not show their passion, both romantic and sexual? If one is going to show a "past" before Wilde's troubles, why not a love scene between the two men?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Wilde was 37 when they met -- older than Bosie but there would hardly be the awkwardness of his being taken with a young boy. Shouldn't we see </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">at its height </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">the passion that Wilde never denied and which destroyed him? And what calls for music in an opera more than a passionate profession of undying love? Bosie, who lived until 1945, rewrote his life extensively, downplaying both the emotional and physical aspects of his involvement with Wilde. But perhaps at that moment he did respond to Wilde's unquestioning, unconditional love.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Instead, in <b>Oscar</b>, Bosie danced and danced and danced. There were no scenes between him and Wilde. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The opera jumped to the night before Oscar was to be sentenced. His friend (also notorious but heterosexual) Frank Harris -- sung by the great American tenor William Burden sadly underused here -- advises him to flee to France as many an Englishman in similar straights has done, for the verdict is sure to be guilty and the penalty, brutal. Oscar refuses but advises the dancing Bosie to flee.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">But isn't that a scene that invites music? Perhaps Bosie puts up a (pro forma) objection while Oscar genuinely begs him to save himself, promising they will meet again and Bosie agrees to flee, likewise promising to stay faithful to their love.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Yes, Oscar was sentenced to two years hard labor, put in a cruel prison, and the experience ruined him physically, problems resulting from the labor probably killed him a few years later.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">In Morrison's opera, we got a half hour of <i>sounds suspiciously like </i>themes from Billy Budd by Benjamin Britten. Oh, yes, Bosie in death mask danced through this too during a completely irrelevant execution. But Opera is full of solo prison scenes where an unjustly imprisoned man cries out his grief, terror, hope. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Not much use was made of the gifted David Daniels but what an opportunity for him would such a prison soliloquy have been!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">After serving his full term, Oscar has no choice but to go to Paris. He is destitute. There is a story that Oscar hopelessly walking the streets to see if he could find food saw the coach of the great diva Nellie Melba. He approached her, looking like a bum and said, "Excuse me, Dame Nellie, I used to be Oscar Wilde. I am starving. Can you help me?" Melba, notoriously tight-fisted, gave him all the money she had on her, and some of her jewels and hurried away.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Albert might have told this story to Cox and Mr. Morrison not for them to use but as an example of how one might <b>SHOW</b> Oscar's desperation and the depths to which he had sunk.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">There were other opportunities for scenes in Paris: surely, there would be the farewell between Bosie and Oscar, who has never lost his love. In fact Oscar's wife had offered him a modest stipend if he agreed never to see Bosie again, not to "stop" his homosexuality but to get him away from someone she understood all too well. As desperate as he was, Oscar refused. But Bosie had already moved on. They did meet to say goodbye, and I can't understand not wanting to write the scene and music for it of this wrenching farewell. But there was no such scene, nor was there a death scene for Oscar. Cox tried to use as many of Oscar's words as he could, how could he have resisted what some have suggested were Oscar's last words after much suffering: "Either this wallpaper goes or I do?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Mr. Morrison is distinguished (as is Mr. Cox) but I thought the music lacked variety of color, imagination, a distinctive voice or even (whatever Mr. Morrison might have felt in himself) emotional conviction. It was a clumsy take on an interesting subject, badly and rather stupidly staged, where a fine singing cast and a dancer of remarkable stamina (Reed Luplau giving his all in this bizarre iteration of Bosie), were wasted.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Well, this <b>is</b> Philadelphia where good people come to die (and where the doomed Oscar Wilde met the elderly and rather puzzled Walt Whitman!). So what can you do?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Well, I could end this but I haven't dealt with Matthew Aucoin's <b>Crossing</b> or the work of Nico Muhly, both much younger than the composers I've discussed here.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Antonacci as the beset mother in Two Women</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">But perhaps we could have a word or two about the "lush" new opera, designed to save people from "musical torture" given in San Francisco: <b>Two Women</b> by Marco Tutino. It was panned by the national reviewers. I can only speak to a few clips sent me by a spy. As is often the case, idiots on line invoked Giancarlo Menotti as an influence or heaven help us the witty, light-fingered Nino Rota. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">But Tutino (61) writes in the style of Renzo Rossellini, the brother of the great director Roberto Rossellini. Rossellini wrote the scores for his brother's famous movies from the mid-1940s, <i>Rome: Open City</i>, <i>Paisan</i>, and others. The score for <i>Paisan</i> goes on and on <b>very loudly</b>. It shows a rich orchestral texture and harmonic procedures of the 1890's with some haunting original melodies plus a few folk tunes adapted to a lush style. He wrote at least 15 operas, many of them given at La Scala. His biggest success was <b>A View from the Bridge</b>, a professional work in a very old fashioned but not ineffective style.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Tutino as far as I could hear proceeds exactly the same way, alternating noisy effusions with "found" music, including a rather haunting folk tune. I can't say more not having seen the work. Rossellini, born in 1908, sounds more spontaneous. Tutino (born 1954) sounds contrived and obvious as far as I could tell. For some well-placed reviewers, the work fell flat. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The whole endeavor seems naive to me. A creative artist can only write for his or her own time. Parody or pastiche may be amusing but has limited expressive uses in serious, emotional material. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">Rossellini wrote in a style that was old-fashioned and tired but could still possess some immediacy of effect. Tutino is writing camp and unless the work is intended to be a send-up, it becomes irrelevant. That isn't the same thing as "conservative", it's the same thing as pointless.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">The flight into the past so typical of opera lovers today is an embrace of death. Schnyder's style, hardly radical and never unapproachable, or Benjamin's somewhat tougher but utterly fascinating approach, are powerful ways to meet the challenge of opera in a world that is spinning away from the cultural norms that supported it for so many years.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">And we so must end. If anyone is still reading, next time I will try a few words about those youthful hopes Aucoin and Muhly. For now -- oh wait! Callas speaks:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">On page 269 of the book, Lerman quotes Maria Callas, who he adored: "After fifty, singing is like sex, you never know if you'll make it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-16724802109633659752015-06-06T23:10:00.000-07:002015-07-09T21:07:53.684-07:00DEATH OR TRANSFIGURATION? (1)<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from CROSSING by Matthew Aucoin at A.R.T</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">What's needed to renew opera is new operas. The crisis is very real. <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">These figures are from Opera America. The "main season attendance (not counting outreach, student performances, etc. 4.1 million </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">in 1990), went from 3.6 in 2007 to 2.9 in 2009. This decline is a steady slope since 1990."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />In America of all the Arts opera is the most endangered because it's the most expensive. "Regie production", is possibly not the answer anywhere. Those are </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">director-driven presentations of popular operas that none the less go in radical directions far away from what experienced American opera lovers are used to seeing.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">We need a reinvention of the form through its basic unit, the opera itself. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />This has dawned on people for at least the last fifteen years and is getting its annual attention in the press. The New York Times did a big piece on Matthew Aucoin, the "boy genius" who appears to be abundantly gifted as a conductor but who's new opera, <b>Crossing</b>, was just given at ART, the theater at Harvard and was covered widely, including in the New York times.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OSCAR Opera Philadelphia</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Opera Philadelphia did two new operas in 2015: <b>Oscar</b> by Theodore Morrison, with a libretto by John Cox, which concerns the downfall of the famous playwright and wit, Oscar Wilde. It was jointly commissioned with Santa Fe Opera which gave the world premiere in 2013. And on June 5, 2015, Opera Philadelphia gave the world premiere of <b>Yardbird</b>, the nickname of Charlie Parker, also known as Bird. Music was by the Swiss, Daniel Schnyder, text by Bridgette A. Wimberly. I saw both of these.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yardbird Opera Philadelphia </td></tr>
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</span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">San Francisco will soon give the world premiere of <b>Two Women</b>, an opera by Marco Tutino, to be directed by Francesca Zambello.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />Interestingly, Italian conductors provided the impetus for <b>Yardbird</b> and <b>Two Women.</b> Corrado Rovaris, the Music Director of Opera Philadelphia, spoke to the "fusion" composer Daniel Schnyder. They arrived at the idea of an opera that takes place on the last day of Parker's life. Nicola Luisotti convinced David Gockley the General Director of the San Francisco Opera to commission an opera of "lush and powerful" music to relieve the audience of the pains of "modernism" and "musical torture".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">But a local spy confided that San Francisco Opera sent out an email advertising a 40% discount on seats for <b>Two Women</b>. Is the issue that people who pay for live performances <b style="font-style: italic;">only </b>want <b>Tosca</b> or equivalent and won't even take a risk on something that has gotten sweaty assurances by all that it will be at worst a dental checkup with lolly-pop and not a painful procedure?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">This informant also wondered if <b>Two Women</b> could possibly be worse than Gorden Getty's <b>Usher</b> (words and music by Mr. Getty, an 81 year old billionaire) on a bill with a recent completion of Claude Debussy's <b>Fall of the House of Usher</b> by Robert Orledge in December. This bill has already been given by the Welsh National Opera in June, 2014 to less than a rapturous reception (Debussy left very little, Mr. Getty reportedly remembers too much). </span><br />
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</span>Nico Muhly writes a lot of music. The Philadelphia Orchestra commissioned and gave the world premiere of a new work of his called <b>Messages</b> at its last concerts in the Kimmel Center in May, 2015 (I heard it May 16). Afterward, the orchestra's music director, Yannick Nezet-Seguin <span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">called Muhly "a genius, a great genius!"</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two Boys, Metropolitan Opera</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Muhly has written two operas. The Metropolitan Opera gave the American Premiere of <b>Two Boys</b> in the fall of 2013. The libretto is by the distinguished American playwright, Craig Lucas. The English National Opera gave the World Premiere in 2011. Opera Philadelphia joined one of its partners, Opera Gotham, a small but well-funded company in New York, to give Muhly's first opera, <b>Dark Sisters</b>, written in 2010. It was about this time that Muhly was being given the enormous promotion that has been given Aucoin. He has been commissioned by the Metropolitan opera to compose an opera called <b>Marnie</b> for now, for the 2019-20 season.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />Meanwhile, the Lincoln Center Festival will give <b>Written on Skin</b>, a new opera by George Benjamin with text by Martin Crimp. Benjamin was a pupil of Olivier Messiaen and is now 55. He works slowly but has composed much beautiful music in a sophisticated contemporary style, which both invokes the past and has many remarkable, personal aspects. <b>Written in Skin</b> had its world premiere -- an enormous success -- in Paris in 2012. It was a sensation at the Royal Opera in London, in 2013 where a DVD was made. Americans will weigh in this July, 2015. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />This summer, Minnesota opera will give the world premiere of <b>The Shining</b> based on the Stephen King novel. The composer is the veteran Pulitzer Prize-winning mediocrity Paul Moravec.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />This August, Santa Fe Opera will give the world premiere of <b>Cold Mountain</b> by Jennifer Higdon, another veteran and Pulitzer Prize winner, text by Gene Scheer. It will then be given by Opera Philadelphia in February, 2016 and by the Minnesota opera in 2018. All three companies co-commissioned the work. This kind of sharing, of productions and commissions, has become commonplace in American opera since 2000, it's considered a survival tactic. Higdon is a former composer in residence at the Philadelphia Orchestra and teaches composition at the Curtis Institute.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />More will occur; there is clearly a determination to create a repertory of new and recent operas that can be produced often and attract a public. The rather chilling insistence that a new opera should be "lush" and "powerful" suggests that as in all things in fecund America today, soon to be renamed Koch Country, there is a large element of philistinism. Higdon and Moravec are conservative composers (although Higdon is talented), and Morrison who wrote the hopeless <b>Oscar</b>, composed it in a very derivative style (Benjamin Britten).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />The late Daniel Catan (<b>Florencia en al amazonas</b> and <b>Il Postino</b> among others) and the very much alive Jake Heggie (<b>Dead Man Walking</b> among many others) write in a quasi Puccini style and have been praised for it. Opera News, a worthless rag run by a bunch of fools has used the phrase "movie music" as praise. So why not just show <b>Robin Hood</b> on a huge screen in the opera house? It has a "lush" score by Erich Korngold, as does <b>Gone with the Wind</b>, with its famous score by Max Steiner. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />When I've heard Catan and Heggie they've reminded me of how daring and challenging Puccini actually was. When <b>La Boheme</b> was first given in New York it was called a "tuneless sewer". A great diva of the time, Nellie Melba, who wanted to sing Mimi, nonetheless had to sing the Mad Scene from Lucia after the opera, to be sure her fans came and stayed. But within a few years of its world premiere in Turin, in 1896 it had been given in an amazing number of opera houses and by 1900 was a massive worldwide hit.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teresa Cerutti Italian sorpano dancing as Salome</td></tr>
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<b>Salome</b> by Richard Strauss was considered musically cutting edge and shocking in its subject matter. It had its world premiere in Dresden in 1905. Within two years, it had been given in 50 other opera houses. It was withdrawn after one performance by the board of the Metropolitan Opera on moral grounds in 1907. The review quoted by the Metropolitan Opera Data Base contains the following "<i>There is a vast deal of ugly music in "Salome"-music that offends the ear and rasps the nerves like fiddlestrings played on by a course (sic) file.</i><i>.</i>" The writer was the appreciable Henry Krehbiel in the Tribune.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />But <b>Salome</b> was a hit when performed by Oscar Hammerstein's company at the Manhattan Opera house. Hammerstein also had hits with the more difficult <b>Elektra </b>and<b> </b>the elusive <b>Pelleas et Melisande</b> by Claude Debussy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />When new, Puccini, Strauss and their operatic competitors were not heard as "lush" at all. Now, we can hear much of their music that way (but not Elektra's confrontation with her mother, sections of <b>Salome</b>, <b>Die Frau ohne Schatten</b>, or parts of<b> La fanciulla del west</b> or <b>Turandot</b>).</span><br />
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<b>Wozzeck</b> by Alban Berg has been given at the Metropolitan Opera 67 times, that is more often than <b>I Puritani</b>, <b>Nabucco</b>, <b>Porgy and Bess</b>, <b>La Rondine</b>, <b>Rusalka</b>, <b>Anna Bolena</b>, <b>Maria Stuarda</b> and <b>Dido and Aeneas</b>.</span><br />
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<b>Wozzeck</b> had its world premiere in 1925. It was a scandal and a sensation and became enormously popular in German-speaking countries, and then gradually elsewhere in Europe. It made Berg an international celebrity. The Nazis stopped that in 1933. However, Leopold Stokowski had given a staged performance in Philadelphia in 1931. Extended fragments were broadcast in England in 1932. The complete opera was given in concert in London in 1934. It was given at the Rome Opera in 1942 despite the Gestapo by Tullio Serafin with Tito Gobbi. After World War ll it began slowly to become a repertory item all over the world. The Metropolitan Opera was late doing it in 1958 and frightened too. It was an enormous success. No one would call <b>Wozzeck</b> "lush" or suggest that it was essentially background music.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />But we are in a culture of distraction. The goal behind doing new operas has been in part to lure "the young" back into the opera house. But we know that in America at least, the average person under thirty is looking at three screens at once. Attention jumps back and forth to multiple entertainments as well as real life situations happening simultaneously.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />As someone who deals seriously in press for "high art" put it to me (and he is in his early thirties), young people "curate their own entertainment today". They don't leave it up to stodgy opera companies or symphony orchestras, or theaters, or ballet companies to organize elaborate seasons and sell them subscriptions. They decide on what they're in the mood for and indulge that for as long as they're interested, moving on to something else with the lightening speed our amazing technology allows.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />In a country that despises the well-being of a huge percentage of its population, education, science, rationality, all the arts, one can't expect American youngsters, even those from "good backgrounds" to know anything, to have a frame of reference, to concentrate for long, to retain information, to know much of anything other than what is hot right now, what is "happening" that the corporations are using to make massive profits while deadening their brains.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />Yes, the elderly idiots on the various opera lists dislike "difficult" music, which is only difficult if you're brain is deadened by age and seventy years of listening to Tosca and Adriana Lecouvreur hundreds of times ("I have 300 performances of Norma," one of these fools bragged on a list. But could he read a piano/vocal score of Norma, or even a few arias from it? Of course not.) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />We've betrayed ourselves, those of us who are old; we've allowed this country to be bought and the brains of our young to be crushed. And we argue over Milanov and Callas and Tebaldi as though it were eternally1958.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />Zambello and Gockley looking to produce a "lush" opera where perhaps no one has to strive to understand what is going on, are old too. Whatever they may really believe, and they are both the tough survivors of many a battle, they think assuring an audience that it can come to the opera and not work, even doze to pleasant sound is a way forward.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />But I will end by quoting Flannery O'Connor: <i>"</i><i>Art never responds to the wish to make it democratic; it is not for everybody; it is only for those who are willing to undergo the effort needed to understand it.”</i> But an opera impresario will say, "Nice. Now how do you pay for it?"</span><br />
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</i> This, alas, is part one. I've heard many of these operas, read the scores of others and of course have irrelevant opinions. But that must wait for --dare I call it -- part two?</span><br />
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<br />Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-90726291030249132242015-04-02T10:22:00.000-07:002015-04-02T12:41:09.175-07:00AN IMPROVISED REQUIEM<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">Eric Owens cried openly during the "Schubertiade" presented on March 25 by The Philadelphia Camber Music Society in the intimate Perelman Theater at the Kimmel Center.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He burst into tears during <b>Fahrt zum Hades </b>(The Journey to Hell). He started to sob in the quiet section where the dead person whispers "<i>Neither bright sun shines nor is starlight seen nor even a song can be heard.</i>" Tears rolled down his face in <b>Prometheus</b> and again he had to fight sobs during <b>Gruppe aus dem Tarturus</b>, especially in the second strophe, "Schmertz verzerret ihr Gesicht"... "<i>Sorrow deforms their faces...</i>".</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In a time when few classical artists show much emotion ever, even on stage in opera (Opera Stars for example now study "The poker face" as a technique) such a display was shocking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After intermission, Owens emerged with a music stand and seemed very upset. He addressed the audience. He said, "we lost colleagues today in an airplane accident, Maria Radner, and Oleg Bryjak. </span><span style="font-size: large;">I knew Maria Radner who was lost with her husband and child. She was a special soul. I thought I'd keep the music just in case </span><span style="font-size: large;">I get a little distracted.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> "</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He sang two familiar songs, <b>Ganymed</b>, an equivocal text by Goethe, which has an aspect of sexual ambiguity about it for Ganymed was a beautiful boy abducted by Zeus. But for Owens it became a song about the soul after death, He stressed <i>"</i>Ich komme, Ich komme! Wohin? Ach, Wohin?<i>"</i> "<i>I come, I come but to where, ah to where?</i>" The last strophe, often done as a comfort, was instead mere speculation as Owens stressed it, that there was perhaps something after life, "a loving father." He didn't lighten his </span><span style="font-size: large;">full, rich tone</span><span style="font-size: large;"> or move quickly through, singing </span><span style="font-size: large;">not as a boy ascending but as a man trying to believe that maybe there is somewhere a comfort. The great song <b>Der Wanderer</b> followed. It is a song about one who has left home, perhaps forced out, to find himself a stranger without an anchor. Owens' rich sound and</span><span style="font-size: large;"> slow exploration had a tremendous heavy sadness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At the end of that group he moved his music stand all the way to the lip of the stage, saying "I want to be as close to you as possible", and cried through <b>An die Musik</b> -- On music. <b>"Du holde </b><b>Kunst"</b>, <i>thou holy art, I thank you for taking me to a better world... </i>The song is often somewhat sentimental and I've seen it done in a simpering way but not here, as Owens appeared to be reaching out to embrace all of us in the paradox of music itself, suspended time in forward motion, not a comfort or a distraction, but a way of being, at least for a few moments in an awful world where we will all suffer and then have nothing to show for that but death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've seen many of the great and very good song recitalists who emerged after World War Two, some late in the day. I've even been at and indeed, been a participant (as a notably stumbly pianist) at some master classes. Virtually none of the teachers I played for as a weird teenager, and certainly none of those famous people whose master classes I attended under one pretext or another would really have endorsed Owens. They would have suggested that he hit one aspect of the texts too hard, that showing emotion to that degree was inappropriate, that it was important to evoke tears in the audience and not oneself in a sad song, and never to be indifferent to irony and ambiguity. All true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've certainly seen famous Lieder singers who obviously loved what they were singing and were invested in it. Two of the most moving were Hans Hotter (who I was able to hear in two recitals a year or so before he retired at 80) and Gerard Souzay who gave his entire being to a song. Even Elizabeth Schwarzkopf, who I often call Evil Incarnate, since she was an information officer in the Gestapo, was fully engaged in what she sang and had the gift of projecting with her eyes mysterious, complex emotions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I have rarely been moved in the way Owens moved me. Perhaps it is death getting closer and closer to me that caused me to understand the lament in his singing, supported by an unhistrionic, utterly sincere commitment to his particular vision on this evening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In any case, the audience adored him, wept along eventually, and in Maria Huang he had an accompanist who obviously could alter what I suspect they had prepared and support him in the moment, without losing focus and command.<br /><br />Otherwise, the mostly familiar program was shared with Susanna Phillips who forgot the words to "<b>Gretchen am Spinnrade</b>" of all things and seemed unsure as to how to perform the songs, tending to act them and play with tempos, also not in easy voice. It was great to hear "<b>Auf dem Strom</b>" with Jennifer Montone's gorgeous horn, and the concert ended with "<b>Der Hirt auf dem Felsen</b>" with Riccardo Morales, the phenomenal clarinettist once with the Met orchestra, now with the Philadelphia orchestra, playing with incredible sweetness and charm. <br /><br />Owens is very versatile (professional level oboist and conductor as well as imposing bass-baritone) and has a magnificent sound. The concert had been postponed from early January when Owens was evidently having some physical/personal problems and Phillips I suspect had been better prepared then. She has a beautiful voice but appeared to be having technical difficulties, and her concentration was off. Myra Huang was possibly </span><span style="font-size: large;">too indulgent with the soprano (although she may have deferred to Phillips who pushed and pulled at tempos and dragged the end of Gretchen -- after she had consulted the music -- unconscionably)</span><span style="font-size: large;">. Perhaps she too was distracted by the deaths of colleagues. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Time moves so quickly that this has probably lost its relevance. The co-pilot of the plane, possibly suicidal, possibly concerned about an eye problem that would cost him his job, described in many American outlets as "depressed" (as though depression prompts murder/suicide) locked the cockpit door and crashed the plane killing 150 people. Indiana passed a virulently anti-LGBT law but as of today has watered it down following quick and extensive national backlash. There was more evidence of religious repression in Russia as regards opera. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">But I wanted to describe a concert that occurred at the Kimmel Center in the intimate Perelman Theater by the Philadelphia Chamber Music Society. That's among the best musical programs in Purgatory transitioning to hell, Philly. Miles Cohen is the Artistic Director. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">There had been some doubt about whether the concert would happen at this later date, but according to him, Owens had become available and since he is from Philadelphia and even went to the city's historic high school, Central (as did my twin brother, many years before), then after Temple University (perhaps even in his time a personification of third stage syphilis although they've spent money on an upgrade in the last twenty years) attended The Curtis Institute. Morales, though not born in Purgatory, grew up here and went to the same grade school as Owens. He did a phenomenal job in the once cliched (but now no one knows these songs) <b>Der Hirt auf dem Felsen</b>, and although Phillips still seemed to be navigating the vocal line cautiously, she obviously enjoyed his playing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">The Widder has neglected her blog but may do a summary of other concerts in this series that has featured Jeremy Denk, Bernarda Fink, Gerald Finley, Pierre-Laurent Aimard, and perhaps giving the most conventionally successful vocal recital, Matthew Pollenzani. And one should comment on Miles Cohen a uniquely Philadelphia creature, who acts as host. But that must wait for another time.</span><br />
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THE CALLAS CRAZIES</h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;">December the second was the ninety first birthday of poor Maria Callas. It was also the anniversary of Alfred Hitchcock and his bride and life long assistant, Alma. Who, I wonder made the greater contribution to Western Civilization?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Callas was only a singer, in an art form that is badly outmoded and in America at least, in trouble. Judging from my experiences with the guppy generation, Hitchcock's name has been forgotten but his mastery of a form that still matters is remarkable. None the less, the encomiums of Callas hysterics will appear on the opera lists; last year there was even a doodle on Google. Isn't that a thrill?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">There's a picture of La Signora Maria Meneghini Callas, as she was then, already losing weight but clearly able to bench press the older man beside her. That is the famous conductor, Tullio Serafin. He conducted Callas' debut in Italy, <b><i>La gioconda</i></b> at the Verona Arena in 1947, and promptly forgot her.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">The man she lived with and then married, Battista Meneghini, kept after Serafin and anyone else he could find to give Maria another chance to no avail -- until Maestro Serafin needed an Isolde (or Isotta as Wagner's potion poisoned heroine is known in Italian) and couldn't find one. Battista assured him she knew the role cold. She didn't know it at all. But she went to the audition and sight read parts of the score. Serafin was impressed that she read it so well and h</span><span style="font-size: large;">e hired her. Associated with her in the moron mind because he was hired to conduct many of her records, he declined to list her among the "miracles" he had known among singers. Some of those records he conducted by default.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">EMI, run by the Nazi sympathizer Walter Legge, kept trying to interest Herbert Von Karajan who had pulled off the amazing feat of joining the Nazi party </span><i style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">twice</i><span style="font-size: large;"> into conducting her records. Karajan did do a tour of <b><i>Lucia</i></b> with her when her voice was starting to fail (their performances </span><span style="font-size: large;">from La Scala1954 one of which is a pirate </span><span style="font-size: large;">in quite bad sound are remarkable, though she doesn't make pretty sounds, exactly, but the famous Berlin Lucia from a year later finds her struggling. Of course, for anyone with an IQ above poodle the musical point of Lucia is very likely to prove elusive).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">The picture, where La Signora Meneghini Callas evidently needs a milkshake, is of her confrontation with a process server in Chicago. Callas was being sued by a manager named Bagarozy with whom she had had a fling though he was married to one of her friends but far more unwisely, she had promised him a share of her eventual earnings (if any) as he paraded her around America in the late forties to no avail.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Although the uniqueness of her sound was part of the problem, and the fact that her timbre was "arresting" rather than beautiful, she was a fat girl from a provincial background with no important patrons. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Bagarozy is the one who hustled La Callas to an audition in New York for the first Verona Festival after the Second World War. Giuseppe Zenatello, of an age but still a famous tenor, was organizing this. He had chosen <b><i>Faust</i></b> (already cast, starring Renata Tebaldi) and an opera called <b><i>La gioconda</i></b>. <b><i>La gioconda's </i></b>primary value is as an intelligence test. To like it is to fail. Sadly, I love it. Poor La Gioconda, who, with her blind mother, wanders about Venice, singing and putting out, has fallen in love with a john named Enzo, a prince in disguise who drops her in favor of a princess, already married but who's counting? The music is to match. So we have established that poor Widder Claggart is an idiot (well look who I married!).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Bagarozy had heard that Zenatello had offered the title part to a singer of no value but who </span><span style="font-size: large;">in the fifties</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">would come to be adored by the queens of the Metropolitan Opera, Zinka Milanov, a master of extreme sharpness in tuning with more rump than musical sense. She had made a specialty of faking her way through the role by holding a long high note very softly as she moved across the stage in act one. That's all those queens cared about (look, Ponchielli was no Palestrina but was actually a musician of ability and there is music of a certain appeal and even accomplishment in the opera. But queens never like or know music). Milanov was an established singer, though she had left the Met in anger (temporarily, it turned out), and she wanted a big fee, all expenses, and round trip first class travel. Zenatello didn't have the money, so that was that with Zinka.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Although the exact truth of Zenatello's encounter with Callas is a little hard to discover (the story of his being so excited he got up to join her is a lie you can find in her Wikipedia entry, written by some fool), she sang, he was encouraging but felt he could only offer her the understudy, if she could get there under her own steam. He turned to a Buxom Italian-American, Herva Nelli ("Helluva Nervi" as the campy scamps called her), who later became a cook, but in those days was loved by Arturo Toscanini. Nelli accepted the part. Bagarozy fumed. Then Nelli pulled out. No one knows why. Though she did try to have an Italian career, and the Toscanini faction in Italy was powerful, this once she got cold feet. I've always thought Bagarozy who doesn't seem to have had a savory background threatened to break both her legs if she didn't. But there's no proof. (By the way, Bagarozy's suit was sufficiently legit that Callas had to settle.) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">With time galloping on, Zenatello had no choice but to offer the role to Callas. According to legend, not only was her fee pitiable, but she was not offered travel expenses of any sort. She jumped (figuratively) at the chance and took the job, taking ship with Mrs. Bagarozy, and the bass, Nicola Rossi-Lemeni, who was enjoying Miss Callas' sexual favors.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Michael Scott in the only biography of the younger Callas (it ends with her divorce from Meneghini in favor of Aristotle Onassis) that actually uses documentary evidence as opposed to the improbable lies of the Callas fangirls, is skeptical that the deal was so disadvantageous. But those documents have vanished, and he has only the pictures of Callas sporting beautiful clothes for the chic but chubby on board ship to raise his questions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">All great careers involve improbable good luck. In Callas' case, the luck was her meeting another man exactly like Bagarozy: middle aged and a chubby chaser. But this was the better catch. Battista Meneghini laid bricks in between well-upholstered sopranos and ran a prosperous company with innumerable brothers and a domineering mother, who all hated Callas on sight. He hadn't married, perhaps had never been in love. But it was love at first sight with Callas. He insisted she reciprocated. Others have had their doubts and we'll never know. (Meneghini published Callas' tender and romantic love letters to him, then published her tender and romantic love letters to Bagarozy, written earlier. The only difference is the Italian translation.) What is certain is that she was a fat lady with an odd voice and no options. She was broke, she had failed to make an impression in New York (where she was born and lived long enough to develop a sailor's vocabulary), and Greece, where she had studied and matured, was in political turmoil and offered no prospects. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Moreover, in Greece where she had sung professionally as a teenager, probably starting the destruction of her voice by forcing and artificially darkening it (among her roles was Fidelio of all things; apparently she was wonderful -- Michael Scott has the reviews in his book -- but it's a role that leaves few singers unscathed), she had made more enemies than friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">She was stuck; Meneghini was struck, better, he was rich. Like La Gioconda, she gave herself to him, but this prince was loyal. For ten years he took care of everything, but first, he saw to it that she was well dressed, comfortably housed, legal in Italy, and able to travel anywhere there was an audition. He used what contacts he had to get her auditions. He paid for intense coaching with the esteemed Ferruccio Cusinati who taught her Italian, drilled her in the various styles of Italian opera and helped her refine her roles. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Meneghini (who just liked fat women, not opera) never had a doubt that she was great and the world would agree; she had lots of doubts and needed someone like him; many have testified to her combination of ruthless arrogance and paralyzing insecurity. Eventually, her reputation grew; when Serafin planned the florid <b><i>I Puritani</i></b> and the heavy <b><i>Die</i></b> <b><i>Walkuere</i></b> (La Valkyria) back to back in Verona in 1949, and lost the scheduled coloratura for <b><i>Puritani</i></b> with no substitute to be found, he let Callas try them both. That sensation propelled her into national prominence in Italy. La Scala, which had resisted her strongly, gave in. She even eventually ousted the great favorite there, Renata Tebaldi (Tebaldi found adoration at the Met).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Callas' early triumphs extended to Mexico and to Covent Garden; at both places she was adored, and the pirated records show why, along with technical issues that in retrospect are warnings, but didn't seem so at the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;">Decca (known as London Records in America) made a big commitment to Tebaldi, EMI did the same for Callas. Decca's recent Tebaldi collection is halfhearted, though it includes the first commercial release of a spectacular Verdi Requiem conducted by the great Victor de Sabata.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">But Warner Records has issued a wonderful sounding, complete collection of Callas' studio records. The only problem is that Decca recorded Tebaldi only in roles she actually sang and was right for. EMI recorded Callas in many roles she never or rarely sang and didn't have much spontaneous feeling for (reading the score scrupulously is something else) such as Mimi, in <b><i>La</i></b> <b><i>Boheme</i></b>, <b><i>Manon Lescaut</i></b>, <b><i>Carmen</i></b>, Nedda in <b><i>Pagliacci.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">In the story, Nedda is the victim of the evil clown, Tonio, who incites her homicidal husband Canio into killing her. In the recording, Callas' Nedda sounds like she'd have ripped Tonio apart alive, and gouged Canio's eyes out before running off with her lover (a case of life intruding on fiction!)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">EMI re-recorded Callas as <b><i>Lucia</i></b>, <b><i>Norma</i></b> and <b><i>Tosca</i></b> in stereo when her voice was waning badly rather than documenting her in roles where she showed a remarkable sympathy for the emotional impact of the florid writing (not automatically obvious). Despite her vocal trouble in the late fifties she could -- at least in the studio -- have done Rossini's <b><i>Semiramide</i></b>, Donizetti's <b><i>Anna Bolena</i></b>, Bellini's <b><i>I Pirata</i></b> and other operas in that style. One can only tremble at the coarse,, cut besotted conductors they might have stuck her with -- but Giulini was an EMI conductor, maybe they could have brought Von Karajan aboard for one of those, he was also an EMI artist. Leonard Bernstein's imaginative and musicianly treatment of the somewhat dubious <b><i>La Sonnambula</i></b> live at La Scala makes one wonder if they couldn't have enticed him (with Columbia's permission -- as Sony was then known -- into doing one of those works). At that time EMI had Gedda and Kraus under contract, Simionato might have been sprung from Decca for the <b><i>Semiramide</i></b> (Sutherland had not yet become a sensation and when she got to the opera preferred Marilyn Horne), Cossotto was also an EMI artist. It would certainly have been possible, but EMI gave us Callas' SECOND <b><i>La gioconda</i></b> instead!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Anyone with an interest knows the bad luck of the Callas story. She was in obvious trouble by 1956. Joan Sutherland, one of the miracles of the last "golden age" in opera but who began in small parts, sang the servant, Clothilde in <b><i>Norma</i></b>, the opera of Callas' debut in London in 1952. She said, later, "if you didn't hear Callas before 1955, you didn't hear Callas."</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />That poor woman when asked in her last years how things were, would reply, “one day less!” She ended up miserable and alone. She was 54 when she died in 1977; her voice had collapsed ten years earlier and she had sung with reduced volume, range and control for four years before that. She had, a few years before her death, made money touring the world, sort of Sunset Boulevard meets The Marx Brothers with the then broke tenor, her once famous colleague, Giuseppe Di Stefano. One hopes she knew it was a joke but perhaps she didn't. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Some say she needed an infusion of cash, too; that her widely reported affair with Aristotle Onassis gave people the wrong impression of her finances. Onassis’ sudden marriage to The Widow Kennedy hoping for her in- laws’ influence in his American businesses and the ensuing stresses, kept Callas before the public as the cast-off whore of a billionaire. Only Jackie the Greedy won in this strange interlude. But Callas became a tabloid floozy instead of the great artist she had aspired to be. She also didn't need the money, it turned out. She had fourteen million dollars in her American bank accounts alone; in the 1970's that was a huge amount.<br />
<br />Sadly, she had bought into her myth. Privately, she continued to work on her voice; a few late fragments on tape even sound like her. Could she perhaps have mastered part of the huge song repertory as the great Victoria de los Angeles did when her opera career ended early? But as Callas thought of herself as a diva, that was beneath her. She did try two sets of master classes and found the students poorly prepared and not stimulating. Her reward was an internationally successful play by Terrance McNally. A clever writer of soap operas in Boulevard Play form (his work lacks the intelligence of a true Boulevard Playwright such as Somerset Maugham). Many thought it was true to Callas, though the complete tapes of her Julliard master classes, some of which I saw, show a very different person: shy, correct and helpful. The brassy, bitchy, competitive, sex-obsessed fictional character is, of course, the product of a profound hatred of women.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">When a woman is magic she is either burned at the stake or, worse, sometimes, set upon an altar where her achievements, in reality, are obscured by sick men, mostly morons. Why one can read one of the opera lists, Opera-L, run by an idiot named Robert Kosovsky to make the world safe for such as the ravings of a dog handler named Patrick Byrne who has ripped Callas off by publishing pirates of her performances (as have any number of the mentally crippled). Byrne, a barely literate goon, scum personified, belongs in one of his kennels muzzled like the rabid mutts he pleasures with his tongue all night to one of his distant swishy pirates of poor Maria. This is a lover of art? This is someone who responds to music? Even in a society where pretty much everything has been defined down, and the notion of <i>il sacro fuoco</i> — the sacred fire — that Callas embraced is now a joke. She deserves better.<br />
<br />How could she have come to that? </span><span style="font-size: large;">But what really can be said about her without qualification? You and I have read all the lies: she was a "great actress" but the complete second act of </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Tosca</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"> televised from Covent Garden, staged when she had lost her voice, shows a well past her best opera singer going through the usual business (though well drilled by the opportunist leach Franco Zeffirelli who had apparently managed to stay away from the docks, or maybe he had just juggled his schedule). Callas moves awkwardly, has dandruff and a faint mustache. That's acting? She "rediscovered the great works of the bel canto period." Not really. </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Norma</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"> had always been in the repertory; </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Puritani</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"> and </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Sonnambula</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"> were familiar works. She did do a highly cut, horribly edited version of Rossini's </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Armida</i></b><span style="font-size: large;">, desecrated by Serafin and she did a handful of performances of </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Anna Bolena</i></b><span style="font-size: large;">, </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Poliuto</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"> by Donizetti, and </span><b style="font-size: x-large;"><i>I Pirata</i></b><span style="font-size: large;"> by Bellini. All of these were heavily cut, re-scored and done in "</span><i style="font-size: x-large;">verismo</i><span style="font-size: large;">" style. She did not use her clout to get these operas recorded complete in scholarly versions; she defended the unmusical cuts.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">The many idiots who adore her forget that the singers from the early 19th century that she was compared to all sang <b><i>NEW</i></b> music. They put their own careers on the line with the creators of operas. Callas we are told was a fantastic musician but she mocked the one chance she had to create a role in a new opera (<b><i>Vanessa</i></b> by Samuel Barber) finding that "he did not know women" (he probably didn't but given the orientation of her craziest fans even in her lifetime, one has to wonder at her contempt). Unlike the singers who really were superb musicians (I always mention Jan deGaetani but we can look at the great Eleanor Steber, Arleen Auger or Lucia Popp) in her time, she stayed safe, inserted high notes and held them for dear life, even though that was unstylish and it sounded as though it would kill her. Of course, the crazies will all die off, like Patrick Byrne, throat ripped out by one of his poodles probably. </span><span style="font-size: large;">So what will be left of Callas?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Meryl Streep evidently planned to play her in a movie with Mike Nichols directing, but all the fake hair in the world disappeared and he died (she's now reportedly doing a film about the American nut case Florence Foster Jenkens who shrieked and gurgled serious music thinking she was great. It's all the same to Streep. She, of course, has never produced one of her own projects or developed a property as many movie stars have, nor has she juggled stage with screen work. Instead she has made a fortune, and I guess, secured her name, in masterworks like <i><b>Mamma Mia</b></i> to the indelible horror of eons of Abba's "music" (I think ISIS must be behind that) and a whitewash of the monster, Margaret Thatcher, recently shown to have been -- in addition to all her ghastly political grotesqueness -- den mother to a ring of child molesters who appear to have killed some of their victims. Well, after McNally, how much worse could a Streep tic-filled exploration of an accent be? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;">But is it possible for an opera singer to be a "genius"? Normally, we think of genius in the creative sense. But are there a few, a very few, singers who have a density of affect in what they do, who when the stars are fortunately aligned and the opera is the right one, can work a spell, way beyond what enormously talented, deeply serious, hard working performers do? Are there people we can never understand who transform in front of us into a bolt of electricity, one that might singe us if we get too close? And are there mere performers who can take artistically equivocal work and somehow breathe truth into it, provide -- despite the tinsel and contrivances, the conventions and the noisy idiots -- an ecstasy where horror at what we know life is and joy at being alive anyway combine into an unforgettable moment? For the music lover sometimes, hardly often, a microphone can capture that bolt of lightening and let us revisit it. Perhaps this is something that Tallich and Furtwaengler and De Sabata could do, even with music hardly worth the effort of beating time, or that Cortot or Richter could manage even in the simplest and most familiar piece. Who can understand the motives of these people, their personalities, their destinies?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">One hesitates to put a mere singer in that category, for one can sing to the great satisfaction of the mental defectives who love opera, by having only high notes, or volume, or flamboyance; the fans are mostly too dumb to notice anything else. But if there has been a singer who had some of that quality, a mysterious, bizarre, unkempt allure, achieved with an ugly/beautiful tone, with odd register shifts, within the sometimes primitive style that prevailed in her time and very often in laughable, inferior music, it was Maria Callas. No, not always or in everything but now and again. Oddly enough, I would choose the despised <b><i>La gioconda</i></b> — her second recording, made when her voice was failing, as an amazing, perhaps unique, example of spinning pathos out of dross.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, one can read the score and notice her elastic but marvelous rhythm, her powerfully inflected words, her imaginative phrases, and yes there is the tightrope walk through a role beyond her by then. Above all though, there is the magic of what she does, a heartbreak one might have felt but could never express, wouldn't know how to express, a moment of exultation that stings, of ferocity that trembles in terror at itself. I personally don't think Ponchielli did all that badly, or all that well; and the surrounding performance is routine. But for those with that disease, the opera disease, Callas creates sounds that become part of one's own life. One might choose otherwise, one can't help it. So yes, one can bristle at all the idiocy, and the grotesque fan fools, and the indiscriminate fetishists, and the preposterous fantasies and outright lies and pirate industry. But a few moments of Callas in those rare lightning strikes erases all that. So, yes, perhaps she was, now and then and against the odds -- as much from her own strange nature as from destiny -- a genius. And maybe that's why all of us now and then, just for a little while are Callas crazies. </span><br />
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</span>Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-8525213901563680822014-05-29T08:01:00.001-07:002015-09-17T16:09:56.919-07:00ANNA MOFFO<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.571428298950195px;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.571428298950195px;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.571428298950195px;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.571428298950195px;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm going to write what I know, for the hell of it. She was a wonderful person, right to the end of a protracted, gruesomely painful fight with cancer. Even at the end she answered fan mail (there was always a lot) promptly and by hand. She was generous to talk with, by which I mean she was funny, observant and emotionally available. Sick as she became there was something healing about her.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She was a phenomenal musician; the best among singers that I met before Renee Fleming (who can reduce an orchestral score at sight and play an arrangement of it at the piano without preparation). Moffo could also read a partitur, she was a master of solfege, she was harmonically very sophisticated, she could dissect modulatory movement like a professor and she had broad tastes in serious music. She adored music with both an emotional and an intellectual passion (I have met singers who didn't much like music at all, they just happened to have the sort of voices and training that let them support themselves better by singing serious music than they could have by doing any other kind of work that was feasible for them). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think she had one of the most beautiful natural voices ever documented. The audition tape she made at seventeen, "dead with nerves" to get considered at Curtis, is a heart-stopping, beautiful and deeply felt "un bel di". Her performance of that aria on her complete recording sounds IDENTICAL.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That suggests an amazing innate ability, musical (she taught herself the aria), emotional (it is really felt and utterly sincere but within the style and line of the piece as indicated in the score) and vocal (it is a gorgeous sound). Of course she got in, and that began the odd mixture of great and awful luck that characterized her career,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That she sang the same way after an extensive course of study meant she was singing as she felt, not with awareness or understanding of the process. But at Curtis she was snatched up by Madame Gregory (nee Eufemia Giannini of the Giannini family, as prominent a musical family as ever was native to Philadelphia, her sister was the great if eventually rather steely toned Dusolina Giannini, and her brother was the very gifted composer Vittorio Giannini, who though born in the wrong time, given how conservative he was, was really gifted and ideally would be rediscovered.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In Moffo's time, Madame Gregory wore a hearing aid and seems to have been largely ignorant of vocal production (she also taught the wonderful Frank Guarrera, whose family were neighbors of my family). As with Frank, whose early self-made records show a gorgeous voice, and who recorded some tenor arias showing such bright richness and squillo that he was very likely a tenor, Madame Gregory tended to miss overtones and the "hints" of potential in young voices. Moffo thought she was (improbably) a mezzo, and when she won her Fulbright, the only arias she took to Italy to audition with were mezzo and contralto arias, including Dalila's from Samson, as well as a sheath of songs in the contralto keys!!!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was Mercedes Llopart who taught Moffo for a time in Italy, Llopart also taught Renata Scotto and Alfredo Kraus who swore by her, Kraus thought she was a genius as a teacher (she also taught Cossotto and then, yes, Elena Suliotis!!!) Llopart identified Moffo's voice as a high set lyric coloratura and was supported in that belief by Luigi Ricci, the great coach, sometime conductor and best musical friend of all the verismo composer (he was personally devoted to Mascagni). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Moffo said these two got her to vocalize higher and higher, and to do scales and fioriture. They also thought she had to sing Lucia (she had never thought in those terms, and would have agreed to a degree that it wasn't much musically). But from a working class family, having studied for four years with only a year in Italy paid for by Senator Fulbright, she had to make a decision. She needed to start a career. So she started auditioning around, instead of staying at least another year with Llopart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She did not secure her breathing, or the way she managed register shifts, and although she had the high notes easily, was insecure singing them and was apt to force and move off the breath (the earliest habits a singer develops very often become what governs their singing for their entire career; if they are bad habits, problems will occur. It takes someone made of steel to change, the good kind as with Birgit Nilsson, who abandoned most of her training after being forced to sing Salome over a bad cold and having a triumph by doing exactly the opposite her teachers had recommended, or the Krupp's kind of Madame Schwarzkopf who invented a technique for herself and kept it going).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But the Butterfly RAI film was a sensation and she worked constantly after it. For a while she still sang high, florid roles but her temperament and musical taste was geared more toward the challenges of Pamina (she was the first person to point out to me that the g minor tonality of the aria is a "secret" in the way the aria is written with its shifting dominants, showing up only as Pamina accepts death at the end, until then, the unthinkable; Violetta and Melisande for example (where her looks were a great asset).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sadly, she made a bad first marriage to a husband who micromanaged her career and never let her rest. Besides her stage engagements, she had TV shows in Italy and Germany, sang concerts at the drop of a hat, sang live on radio in various countries, acted in movies, made tons of records, and needing to fulfill contracts, got through indications of vocal trouble, papering over nascent but obvious vocal problems. She had at least one physical collapse. But she often had to sing ill, and she did not have the technical savvy not to damage herself by doing so. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Born in 1932, she was from a generation and background that was not sophisticated socially. Her first husband was gay. Many heterosexual female opera stars who have weathered vocal or emotional crises have told me that the love of their husbands (or a caring man in their lives) had helped them survive. Moffo had neither and no one to save her from the crazy schedule or to point out that increasing evidence of vocal decline was not a passing indisposition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Her voice remained quite beautiful (heard when she was relaxed) into the early eighties, but by the late sixties she was often exhausted, her nerve and courage was shot, her marriage was a shambles and even getting away to think was difficult for her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She began seeing teachers for quick fixes but had to maintain her schedule. I believe, as Beverley Johnson did -- she was the person who really tried to help her -- that had she simply taken two or three years off, practiced a sensible vocal routine every day under the microscopic ears of an expert, she could have regained much of her earlier form and sustained a career. However one issue was never going to be solved, she had barely had the power and stamina for singing in a house the size of the Met at her best, and she might have had to limit herself to European houses and concert tours in America.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But this was hard for her to hear, as inexorably waning success while still relatively young is hard to bear for anyone. However, luck struck again, with a wonderful second marriage to a wealthy man, Robert Sarnoff. He provided the love and support she had needed all along and helped in the early years of her illness, but he predeceased her by almost a decade.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think in her best work, Moffo is ideal. She sang gorgeously into the sixties, is wonderful musically, always expressive and loves the words. On records, she manages some heavier music memorably for she retained the enticingly ripe lower octave that had misled Madame Gregory. She also made unforgettable records of lighter music; this rep has rarely been sung with a timbre so beautiful, such lively words and such musical sense, which does not cause her to condescend to the material or tempt her into mannerism. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She had some very bad luck and that included a documented wildly circulated disaster during a Met broadcast. But I can't tell you how visceral my loathing is for pigs who have done NOTHING with their lives but pirate the work of others, who on the face of it are unmusical fools, who are stupid scum, mocking this wonderful person who might well have been a vocal genius for a time (if such can be said to exist). We can all grant that after about twelve years at the top (sensational Salzburg debut 1957), she declined and then fell precipitously. But that at her best, she was great; and the documents, live and canned are there.</span></div>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-24796898412845439142014-05-22T13:22:00.000-07:002014-05-22T14:43:00.490-07:00OPERA NEWS AND THE ARTS ARMAGEDDON<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD1i6LngPxv9QBDJLF-XVTuVFWtFjQgv3R6K32NhcJYJO-Mao_SUL9gH3Gm4eoWfH8R1dTAdFoQwdxJsAIWFsUbceT-vrQjj2K-USXCQcb1E2SMrtcLOEfzgT6mJM65sVfT0p4zNLHkmW/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD1i6LngPxv9QBDJLF-XVTuVFWtFjQgv3R6K32NhcJYJO-Mao_SUL9gH3Gm4eoWfH8R1dTAdFoQwdxJsAIWFsUbceT-vrQjj2K-USXCQcb1E2SMrtcLOEfzgT6mJM65sVfT0p4zNLHkmW/s1600/images.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Reading about opera has been discouraging. It seems that many people who comment on the Opera 'Net don't understand reality. They don't know the difference between </span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">not-for-profit</i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> (as the Met is) and commercial funding (such as Broadway, movies and TV). There is a tight dislike of unions. There is the cheering for Peter Gelb who has no experience producing anything, was dumped by Sony after a bad showing there, knows very little about arts in general (I wrote for him at Sony and know his limits).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But there is a loathing for unions, even though they represent highly specialized, trained and experienced people who are essential for production of opera, and who in most cases have studied long and borrowed much to finance their educations. That these people have a right to decent earnings and protections in one of the world's most expensive areas in which to live leaves the wealthy or stupid list commentators cold. That Gelb was rebuked by the leader of the union that represents the chorus for trying to contact individual members enraged some fools.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A union is a collective, divide and conquer are maneuvers by management of long standing to destabilize unions. But union members vote on their representatives and will vote on any recommendations those representatives suggest. It is proper and fair for Gelb and henchpeople to meet with union representatives who understand from the point of view of their members what is essential and where compromising might be acceptable. Certainly art unions are in a more precarious situation than the movie and TV unions (I belong to three). There are problems in LA certainly, but there is also so much money, and so much potential for profit from many different platforms, that union members who work there can demand high pay, good benefits and tough protections. But the arts are terribly vulnerable in America; no institution can survive if two thirds of its cost are union costs (the claim of Met management and probably the truth). Union members may need to accept some reductions in pay and benefits, and redefinition of special services and overtime. Will they? Should they? Well, that is a long, speculative piece.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">But I am more interested right now in Opera News. There is a new publisher, the second in a year. During some debate about the value of Opera News and the challenges that face it, one elderly lady notorious for her solipsistic gushing on various lists, cited the magazine's "frank" interview with Anna Netrebko earlier this season and </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">cried out that as long as SHE loved Opera News it was safe and good.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Why is that stupid? Well, if one moronic reader were enough, Opera News would be golden. If ten were enough, if a thousand were enough, if ten thousand were enough and not all were idiots there wouldn't be a problem. Nor would there be the odd turnover of publishers. The new one follows another lady by only a few months. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Presumably there are two connected issues that one dope given to fan drooling isn't going to fix.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1. ADVERTISERS</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Circulation numbers (consistent as opposed to intermittent).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wrote for the magazine a lot in the 1990's and liked the second publisher I dealt with very much (he was very Metropolitan Opera Guild, a white Anglo Saxon Protestant from money). But he was a smart, decent man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">At that time there was much hand wringing over advertising in Opera News. Although the magazine was subsidized directly by the Guild, the Guild was subsidized by members who joined for a lot of reasons. Although back then I don't think Guild memberships were falling off significantly, advertising in Opera News had stagnated by 2000 and I assume has fallen off considerably since then (Brian Kellow kicked me out as a contributor around 2001). Advertising revenue was necessary to supplement what the average Guild member paid (Opera News was a perk for joining at the lowest level).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Opera News had begun as a pamphlet focused solely on the Saturday afternoon broadcasts and based largely on the Met. It's important to be clear though, the Guild and the Met are two different entities with different missions. Opera News was an "official" document only at the beginning (1936) and perhaps for twenty years afterwards. Because the magazine was small, it had a small staff, paid little, offered limited photography in black and white, not typically of the highest quality. There was advertising from the first but not a great deal and since the pamphlet style was inexpensive, it wasn't crucial.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">However, in the 50's Opera News began to expand. Though it kept its small size, there was a slow but inexorable increase in pages. The staff grew. While the staff wrote a lot of the articles, there was more of an effort to recruit free lance writers from America and Europe (so long as they could write in English) to provide "articles". These included interviews with stars who were not in New York at the time of the interview, or even Met artists. These were also think pieces, expanded pieces about the history and time period of a given opera, articles on composers, famous singers from the past and trends in the opera world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">These writers needed to be paid, and the Guild to its credit understood that you get the best by paying well. Photography became more a part of the magazine and it was of a higher quality (Erica Davidson was quite a gifted New York arts photographer but the magazine also bought photos made by others, some in England and Europe). Making sure those photos looked good in all the issues was itself an expense, and getting good photos by outside photographers meant paying competitive prices. This meant a need for more advertising.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mary Ellis Peltz, the first editor, a smart, tough minded arts journalist was replaced in 1957 by Frank Merkling who was a highly sophisticated editor in this period of expansion. But the most important editor (and probably the best in the magazine's history) was Robert Jacobson who began in 1974. A visionary, and an intense worker, obsessed with opera but arts savvy in general, he expanded the magazine to its current size, added pages, added color, wrote long articles himself, and recruited others to do the same. He increased the amount of reviewing the magazine did not only of the Met and occasional New York offerings, but of opera around the country and in Europe. I believe he was the first to go to Europe and report first hand on happenings there (and I think he sent a few others to do the same). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jacobson changed the tea and crumpets aura of Opera News for a more flamboyant, newsy, sometimes gossipy and much tougher minded magazine. It had been stated before that Opera News was not a house organ for the Met, but Jacobson abandoned the euphemisms, high church tact, and omissions that had been in use from the beginning for franker and tougher assessments of the performances reviewed, and the policies of the house in general.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't think the magazine had ever pretended there wasn't opera elsewhere but Jacobson covered opera in America thoroughly, recruiting often tough minded local journalists (Stephanie von Buchau, among the best of these, was one of Jacobson's first hires. Her beat was the West Coast. She was sharp. funny, sophisticated. She was one of the first fired by Brian Kellow, the power though not the editor from 1999).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jacobson dealt with the City Opera (now dead), smaller companies that did new, unfamiliar work often in challenging productions (most gone now or much reduced) and got "you are there" type articles about European endeavors, including one he wrote himself, a memorably frank analysis of that era's Bayreuth Festival. But all of this meant a greater outlay of money for fees, and for writer expenses, and to print the magazine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His confidence was based on the explosion of the classical record industry that followed the first years of long playing records and the need of those labels for advertising and endorsements. He also courted manufacturers and sellers of audio equipment who found willing buyers among those who wanted to realize spectacular sound in their homes. He glamorized a lot of the "divas" of his era (he was friendly with many personally) and used them to advertise clothes, jewelry, accessories and so on. It was very likely the last era when Opera meant glamour. social status and seemed important. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He got the job by telling the Guild's Board that he was Norwegian when he was Jewish, which he did not admit on the job, One of his important writers changed his name from Zinzer to Wadsworth for similar reasons. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jacobson died a lingering horrible death, and I think that was the end of the great Opera News. He was replaced by a long time staffer, Gerald Fitzgerald, small minded, mean, who was taken off by the plague as well. The Guild refused to appoint another staffer, the invaluable Jane Poole, because she was female, and hired an Englishman who soon became famous for his drinking. It was Roberta Peters, the great coloratura, who asked at a meeting of the Guild Board "why do we need an English editor when we are an American arts organization?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Englishman staggered out to be replaced by Patrick J. Smith who hired me to write, which I did a lot. He was another WASP of wealth, good manners and discretion with a strong interest in American opera, new work and challenging productions of familiar operas. He followed Jacobson's example of allowing reviews of Met productions to be frank, and sometimes even allowing articles to be critical of Met favorites. I wrote two of those, so three enraged phone calls were received by the first publisher Patrick worked with, Patrick and me. I thought Joe Volpe was funny but I grew up like him and knew many people of the same sort. The WASPS shook. But Patrick stood his ground bravely.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Brian Kellow had been hired in Fitzgerald's time. A very ambitious not to say lean and hungry type, he became Patrick's right hand, and was a great help. For all Patrick's excellent intentions and right mindedness he was indecisive and disorganized. He had run a valuable small magazine about serious music with an emphasis on the new but Opera News had become quite a big proposition needing a tougher minded and more decisive editor. It is my memory that Kellow added pages, expanded photography and like Jacobson, allowed longer articles by a range of expensive writers. I also think he and Patrick expanded the staff. Advertising became more and more important to underwrite ambitious articles about opera everywhere, not just in New York. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And that was when I was aware that there was anxiety that the magazine was becoming too expensive. Patrick left in 1998. During an interregnum, Kellow cleaned house but decided not to become editor, getting his long time friend, F. Paul Driscoll, an authority on Gilbert and Sullivan, to do that job, officially in 2003.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">These two have run the magazine since. They tried various initiatives. Seeking to expand readership especially among a younger demographic, they put good looking, hunky baritones on the cover; they commissioned PEOPLE like tabloid interviews, such as the idiot I mentioned above, loved. They were dumbing the magazine down but not without reason. They were seeking advertisers and hoping that by presenting a hip, contemporary look and "vibe" they could attract people in the 18-39 year old demographic that advertisers want, and thereby attract more advertisers and perhaps increase the cost of advertising in the magazine. The gay angle became important. I believe the thinking was that gay men, supposedly and perhaps actually, the backbone of opera in America, have on average higher disposable incomes and even when older are more conversant with current trends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">However, they had to weather continuing crises in the economy, as well as a huge cultural shift, of which so many of the elderly and about to be ancient commentators on the 'Net (I am one myself) seem unaware. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"High Culture" no longer means anything, there is no longer glamour and social status to be gotten at the Opera. Even Netrebko's impact is "soft" compared to the pop, movie and reality TV divas that get huge coverage in the most accessible markets of our culture, while opera and all other <i><b>high art</b></i> endeavors are entirely ignored. Surveys show not only a tiny number of people interested in various art forms (2.5% of Americans say they have an interest in opera and the spoken play for example) but younger people are farther and farther away from being exposed to any of the art forms inherited from the 19th century.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The death of newspapers and general interest magazines nearly all of which had substantial cultural pages thirty years ago, the total lack of mainstream TV production and discussion of any of the arts (in fact there's not even an on demand or pay cable channel showing the telecasts of opera, concerts and plays that are frequent in Europe) is devastating. PBS scheduling of Met HD telecasts and occasional concerts is often confusing, slotted in inconvenient time periods, and not carried at all in various parts of the country. Education in the arts is hap hazard when not lacking entirely. As he writes in <i style="font-weight: bold;">Inside A Pearl</i>, Edmund White was shocked that when he returned from twenty years writing in Europe that what he accepted as commonplace there, frequent discussions on main stream television and the radio of all the arts, with new novels, works of non fiction and their authors frequent guests not only to promote themselves but to debate and analyze what their colleagues were writing about struck Americans as bizarre. He and his many writer friends in France and England, in Germany and the Czech Republic were at least known by name to a large public; in America no one knew of any serious writers at all and there were absolutely <u style="font-style: italic;">no</u> mainstream outlets for discussion of literary, historical, philosophical work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Moreover the cultural change I refer to means that people under 40 are far likelier to stay home and play video games, surf the net and multi-task in their rooms than they are to go out to anything. For example, overall attendance at movies has suffered as much as anything else. The wiping out of a serious, artistically oriented but commercial movie industry by remakes, endless reiterations of sci fi, superhero, cartoon character, "gangsta" style films of chases, shoot outs and mayhem, frat boy comedies and recently, movies that show that women can behave as disgustingly as men and achieve profitability is a tribute to the death of a varied but often seriously intended adult culture in this country. Movies now, many dependent on mechanics rather than scripts or acting and none in need of ideas, are an attempt to lure "tweens", teens and young adults in America. But they are also a concession to an unfortunate reality: a huge foreign market, which accounts for almost half and sometimes more of the money made by movies in general release. Extensive, sophisticated dialogue is hard to translate and means hiring expensive voice actors fluent in the many different languages, ideas can shock or enrage foreign cultures, better a fantasy about giant monsters and cars that become lethal people than anything that concerns real human beings. Old people can watch pay cable and the endless reruns in syndication of the sit comes of their youth and middle years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Even if many of the popular movies of the studio era (its best years ended by 1955) were pulpy and manipulative, they included a huge range of actual human experiences, characters and dilemmas, enacted by recognizable human beings. Joan Crawford walks into the sea to kill herself after smoking a carton of cigarettes and knocking back a bottle of vodka. Her one time lover and protege, now a famous violinist, is playing the <i style="font-weight: bold;">Liebestod</i> in a concert being broadcast nationwide. That is the end of <i style="font-weight: bold;">Humeresque, </i>a hit of 1946, partially written by the great American playwright, Clifford Odets.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Although it has its amusing aspect, her sorrow and mourning for love lost, her understanding of what making serious music demands from those who would make careers doing it, the power of the music itself (played in a Franz Waxman arrangement by Isaac Stern) make an effect still for that waning population that understands what is happening. Showing this to a texting, sexting college class elicits yawns or guffaws and when questions are asked, much puzzlement about everything that has happened. Even bright young people who have educational backgrounds beyond the usual, no longer have the frame of reference such a movie demands; 90% of its original viewers had not gone to college and many had not finished high school. The brighter College students may be astute enough to disdain <b><i>Godzilla</i></b> or <i style="font-weight: bold;">Transformers, </i>they may agree that <i style="font-weight: bold;">Neighbors</i> is unfunny and improbable and oddly, titillatingly and pointlessly or dishonestly gay in subtext,<i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>but their brains and cultural awareness have been sabotaged anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One statistic that has borne up through different kinds of polling is that the average person under 40 is watching three screens at once most of the time (some watch more screens simultaneously). For forms that require concentration, good short term memory, patience and intense focus, this is death.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So suddenly the light of day hits Opera News. Advertisers work from numbers. How many people read the magazine regularly and carefully. How many people get the magazine because they are Guild members but throw it out after at best a skim? The advertisers discount the skimmers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What is the age range of the average reader of Opera News? Advertisers want that younger demographic, but if they don't dominate the number of readers, it's not worth the money to advertise. What is the average amount of disposable income of those younger readers? For example if you have a circulation that is 250,000, people on limited incomes are only a part of the readership, you will have a significant number of well to do and rich readers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Specialized industries, the producers and sellers of music that people actually buy, the makers and sellers of high end sound and picture reproducing equipment, "high priced opera tours", glamorous hotels -- the standbys of Opera News advertising, are either out of business or stressed by contemporary economic realities and ever changing trends in leisure time. Those who sell very high end fashion and accessories, trendy clothing, and gadgets have research that shows that customers are no longer mostly middle aged and older but a smaller number of younger people with large disposable incomes, But those people have no idea about opera, no interest in it and are better reached elsewhere than a magazine that no matter how broad and obvious its coverage has gotten does not attract them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">For young gay men The Opera, the Ballet, The Symphony, The Theater are no longer rights of passage into a cultured circle, but irrelevant, silly (visits to the gay discussion board Datalounge ><b style="font-style: italic;">get your fix of gay gossip, new and pointless bitchery< </b>(</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.datalounge.com/">http://www.datalounge.com</a></i>)</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> s</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">hows long threads where nothing but contempt is spewed at these arts forms beloved by </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">elder scolds</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">, as people younger than me who dare show an interest are called (</span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"hisssssssssssss" </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">is</span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">the way people my age are indicated.) But when I moved to New York in 1974, the hoards -- it seemed -- of younger gay men could be seen in standing room, as guests of better off older connoisseurs of those art forms and everybody had arts oriented talking points however superficial their interest was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I assume this new Opera News publisher, from an odd background (the higher level skin magazines seem to have been her breeding ground), has demonstrated to the Board that she can turn some tricks to attract advertising -- maybe she has done it before. Presumably she has contacts in mass market advertisers and perhaps she can make a case to them. I have no idea if she will have an impact on what Opera News covers, how it looks, or how it is distributed and I don't know how dire the problem is (if she can do somewhat better than her predecessors it may be enough for now, particularly if the magazine cuts back on the number of pages and there is some thinning of the staff, Kellow is no kid and might be looking to retire, I assume he has the highest salary).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But Bob Kosovsky of Opera-L made a good point: Opera News itself is on line but other on line forums compete effectively with no or limited cost, especially among the somewhat younger people the magazine needs to BUY it and what it advertises. I wonder if the fate of Opera News is to become an exclusively on line enterprise? This can be done with a very small paid staff (three people?) and operate like Musical America and The Huffington Post. It can pick up articles published elsewhere (say in England and Europe, translators work cheap), it can find bloggers who will work for free, or if there are a few favorites they will blog for a pittance. Portal enterprises have not been a huge success except in porn (as witness the troubles of the New York Times on line and in general) but perhaps there can be a sort of subscription level to lure the obsessed to more detailed and "insider" style articles -- save those can be had in a lot of places for free on the 'Net.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Opera News was certainly a great institution for American opera lovers but one begins to have the feeling it is going to be yet another victim of the <b><u>Koch Brothers</u></b> culture: the creation of an uneducated, culturally ignorant, poorer but huge underclass, easily distracted, contemptuous of the <i>higher things, </i>who disdain unions and think it only just that they be exploited by a smaller ruling class.</span></div>
Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-57551784519726889872013-12-31T11:57:00.003-08:002013-12-31T11:57:42.908-08:00NEW YEARS EVE 2013<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">I am sorry not to have been more active this last month. Some of it I blame on my Siamese Twin (we are pictured in our comely youth, which alas has fled) who uses the unpronounceable name, Albert Innaurato (who would call themselves that? I'd pick Mamet or Durang!) who has been asserting him/herself blogging at Musical America. His last there was called the Callas Cliche: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.musicalamerica.com/mablogs/?p=14741">https://www.musicalamerica.com/mablogs/?p=14741</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It got him into trouble and that preposterous fascist, AC/DC Douglas complained. He has a rival blog and sent it to The Powers that Be, some thought it hysterically stupid, but poor Albert had to do some sweet surgery. Douglas is one of the Wagner creeps: that is he embraces the grotesque, hideous and horrible stories with their monstrous implications but NEVER talks about the music. Wagner, probably a transvestite -- he was a lady's man because he wanted to BE a lady --is only of value as a long winded, pretentious but remarkable composer, often of genius and genuinely a tremendous influence on those that followed, even those who hated his operas. I, Mrs. John Claggart, have dealt with Wagner's modulatory innovations in the otherwise appalling <b>Parsifal</b>, his undermining of tonality, his remarkable use of chromaticism there and his phenomenal orchestration, right here in my poor blog, despite being prone to spelling mistakes ("better prone than supine," our mother used to say when giving sad Albert and glorious me our sex education.) The grotesque story with its vision (explicit) of racial supremacy, gross misogyny and bogus religiosity is nauseating. But no one with an interest in music can ignore that aspect of the work -- except Douglas who in all the years that he has bored people at Opera-L has NEVER so much as mentioned a key change in Wagner. What a fool. Opera lovers often hate music but at least the queen who wants an unwritten high E flat at the end of act one of Traviata isn't embracing the ugliest sensibility in opera. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I thought it amusing reading a typical discussion on Opera-L about whether Verdi had been <u style="font-style: italic;">influenced</u> by <b>Tristan und Isolde</b> in <b>Otello</b> that Douglas could only make moronic generalizations. It's easily settled, he should know <b>Tristan</b> note by note, don't you think? One need only compare that score (free on line) with the score of <b>Otello</b> (free on line) to come up with a very specific point where Verdi shows he knew <b>Tristan</b> and remembered a particular sequence. Wagnerian techniques of transition and the shaping of lines are also present in the opera, which however remains a great work by Verdi, not a derivation. As do all professional composers (including ones called Wagner), Verdi used techniques taken from others that he thought worked for him in a particular piece. But I thought (Albert was too kind), what kind of pompous, perverted <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">fraud</u> has made Wagner his Christ but can't even make generalizations rooted in the music?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Oh well, "the idiots of the earth have ye with ye always," saith the Risen One, or those who were inventing him (take your pick) and we should leave it there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I promise to write here more. I am really grateful to those who have joined (brave souls!), and appreciate all who read. I wish everyone whose eyes fall on this by accident or design a better new year than I am likely to have, in fact a wonderful new year. One needn't be a prophet to see that things are going badly in <u style="font-style: italic;">fecund America today</u> (Emerson), so how long anyone has before things fall apart must be a matter of speculation. But I wish all who read as much joy as they can seize. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mrs. John Claggart</span>Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-37511229192005927392013-11-04T21:07:00.001-08:002013-11-05T19:39:12.087-08:00THREE TENORS; ONE'S BECOME A BARITONE!<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The regular release of operatic recitals on CD is long dead. But three tenors -- oh, I'm sorry -- two tenors and someone who says he's a baritone now, have recent releases: Jonas Kaufmann, currently the male Anna Netrebko, a super star; Klaus Florian Vogt, a German lyric tenor who is singing Wagnerian roles and was quite wonderful in his two Metropolitan Opera performances as Lohengrin in 2006; and Placido Domingo who in The Widder's opinion wasn't much of a tenor but was acclaimed by the multitudes as a great tenor who is now pretending to be a baritone and is getting acclaim for that too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I used to think no one who had ever heard a great tenor, Corelli, Tucker, Bergonzi, Aragall, Del Monaco before his auto accident could confuse Domingo with one of them, and I thought those who heard the younger Atlantov, Cossuta, Giacomini on a good night, all Domingo's generation, couldn't really think of him as someone equal to them, likewise the younger </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Neil Shicoff</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> (and there are those who felt that Merighi, Martinucci, Bartolini were easily as good if not better) .</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span> <span style="font-size: 14pt;">Domingo started as a lyric tenor with no volume and no high notes, so there was no comparing his sound to Pavarotti. And though, when audible, Domingo in his prime had a rich, chocolate mid range, the sound was nothing compared to the younger Carreras. Came the day Domingo decided he would massacre Wagner with horribly pronounced German and bland, unenterprising interpretations -- and these too were acclaimed. Those who had seen Jon Vickers or James King could scarcely believe it. Though he did build his tenor for volume without losing his voice, and turn the high B flat from a crack into a hit or miss reality, that meant Domingo had more vocal smarts than many singers, his vocal equipment was still modest and he was </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">a bore. And as time went on he transposed down further and further, more and more often. Yet what love from the well-washed and wealthy! The moronic reviewers who had no idea of what a good tenor or a good anything is, poured out their love, and recording wallets opened up. So if he wants to say he's a baritone, why, I guess he's a baritone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But perhaps we should start with the least known of these three in America, Klaus Florian Vogt. He suddenly appeared just as Lohengrin does, in two performances of that opera, unheralded. He was unknown at the Met. He was wonderful. Aryan looking and good on stage, he has a light but beautifully projected tone that had a genuine radiance about it. He was commanding when need be and more audible than one would have supposed in act two, but act three was full of "old fashioned" tenderness, sweetness and pathos. He reminded me of those wonderful <b>Lohengrin</b> records in Italian made around the turn of the 20th century by Vignas and De Lucia (both get complete collections from </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Ward Marston's</span><span style="font-size: 19px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">superb label), tender, caressing accents, breathtaking piani and wonderful float. This was another world from the generalized, businesslike Domingo, or the well intended and good looking but gruff sounding Peter Hoffman, or a younger Siegfried Jerusalem who had a lovely sound in the middle but lacked the projection and the float of Vogt. Vogt had a huge success with a shocked audience, but hasn't been back. He is very busy in Germany, though, and has sung major Wagner roles all over the place, including Bayreuth. He can be seen to good effect on DVD's of </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Lohengrin</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> and </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Parsifal.</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">His voice, curiously, resembles what Jonas Kaufmann described as his young voice, a voice Kaufmann didn't want and worked to change. Vogt is a high set, very German tenor, nothing of the baritone coloration we've come to expect in Wagner, and a high, bright production throughout the range. He can sing the lower tessitura (range) that Wagner often uses for his tenors, but the sound remains high and even "piping". The annotator here mentions the great Karl Erb, a similarly high, bright tenor. I'm sometimes reminded of the great Julius Patzak, who, over a very long career, sang a wide range of roles, many heavier than one would have supposed right for his voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Vogt's CD, available for about seven months on Sony, but only as an import, mikes him rather closely, never a great idea for an opera singer. One doesn't get a strong sense of how his voice expands and fills a space, and the somewhat "white" quality of the tone is too apparent if one listens to the whole thing at one sitting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But individual selections are often beautiful. The tone with its heady sweetness is ideal for Lohengrin, his farewell to the Swan and parting gifts given to Elsa should her brother return, is filled with pathos. His enunciation is ideally clear, and not dependent on vowel manipulations; and by singing on the breath, not forcing, he is able to make a sudden soft tone (a <i>subito piano</i>). Parsifal's two big moments, <b>Amfortas die Wunde!</b>, and <b>Nur eine Waffe taugt, </b>are firmly sung. In the highly chromatic first, his intonation is superb, he sings tricky intervals clearly and cleanly without swooping, and his rhythm is dead on. The aria's climax is "</span><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">Erlöser </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">rette mich", often blasted, but Vogt sings it as the words suggest it is, a prayer. He executes the diminuendos as written from loud to soft (almost no one does) on "</span><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">Erlöser</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">" and "rette mich", makes a plausible crescendo (as written) on "als schuld beflekten </span><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">Händen</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">" but then, as almost no one does, sings the pianpiano marked (<i>pp</i>) until the final cry for The Redeemer. Fundamentally, after Parisfal's first realization, this is an intense and private prayer by someone who is still a boy, and that's how Vogt does it. It's wonderful. </span><b style="font-size: 19px;">Nur eine Waffe taugt</b><span style="font-size: 19px;"> is a benediction; Vogt gives it a tender reading, with really beautiful words, absolutely clear intervals, enough contrast between louder and softer dynamics, if not the thrust that one might want.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">Vogt made an earlier Wagner CD, which has not circulated at all in America, and there he sings more of the lyrical music. To balance this CD he sings some heavier music, such as a nicely managed but slightly thin sounding </span><b><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">Allmächt'ger</span></b><b style="font-size: 19px;"> Vater</b><span style="font-size: 19px;"> from </span><b style="font-size: 19px;">Rienzi</b><span style="font-size: 19px;">. But he and Camilla Nyland sing a soft, tender, inward and sweet </span><b style="font-size: 19px;">"O sink hernieder"</b><span style="font-size: 19px;">,</span><b style="font-size: 19px;"> </b><span style="font-size: 19px;">part of the long act two duet from </span><b style="font-size: 19px;">Tristan und Isolde</b><span style="font-size: 19px;">. They sing the intervals in tune and he floats his line (higher at times than hers) really magically. This would be a small house Tristan and it's perhaps a role he won't do, but a recording with these qualities would be rewarding. He also sings the dying Siegfried's farewell to Brunnnilde: </span><b style="font-size: 19px;">Brunnhilde! Heil'ge Braut</b><span style="font-size: 19px;">, again a role it would be hard to imagine him doing, but this short segment is very beautifully done (and quite wonderfully accompanied by Jonathan Nott and The Bamberger Symphoniker).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Vogt and Nyland reunite for the end of act one of <b>Die Walkuere</b>. A Finn, she, like Vogt, has a lyric voice but sings some heavier roles. As far as I know she has sung with the San Francisco Opera, alone in North America. Vogt starts with <b>Ein Schwert Verhiess mir der Vater.</b> Siegmund is a very low lying role; the cliche that "any Verdi baritone could sing it" is true enough. Jon Vickers, though he had a bright sound, was really at ease in this tessitura and had a massive romantic sound and manner that was thrilling. James King who had begun as a baritone but had an easier top than Vickers, was also wonderful, if less unique. The famous Siegmund in the 1950's, Ramon Vinay, had started as a baritone and returned to being one, and Ludwig Suthaus, a great singer of the role, had the ripe easy lower range needed, as did the somewhat gruff sounding but moving Jess Thomas. The </span><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">über</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Siegmund of course was Lauritz Melchior who began as a baritone, but is in a class of his own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But of course, tenors have sung the role often. Wolfgang Windgassen who the conductor Hans Knappertsbusch dismissed as a "cravat-tenor" (an operetta singer) was famous in the role, Peter Hoffmann sang it, famously, in the Bayreuth Ring produced by the late Patrice Chereau, Siegfried Jerusalem sang it carefully (there is even an exciting video with him and an older but still wild and woolly and really thrilling Leonie Rysanek) and so on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Still, when Jonas Kaufmann sang the role in the <i>Machine</i> production at the Met (the machine didn't kill him but just made him look foolish), he didn't have the impact the role needs in that big house. It's very hard to imagine Vogt doing the role live in a big house (though I believe he has sung it).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">He doesn't seem to have problems with the lower writing and as the line gets a bit higher for the notorious climax on the name, </span><b><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">Wälse,</span></b><span style="font-size: 19px;"> (G flat and G natural where the tenor break supposedly happens), he has no trouble. The youthful tonal quality is appealing. I love hearing the words pronounced so clearly and lovingly. Still, a weightier tone and darker color can work better in this music. But it is novel and rewarding to hear this sung with no sense of forcing or artificial weighting of the tone and the songfulness he brings to the end, </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">"</span><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">Nächtiges D</span><span style="font-size: 19px;">unkel deckte mein Aug'", is really lovely. Nyland (this finale starts with "Du bist der Lenz") has a pleasant </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">not quite steady voice and knows the style. Their soft and tender give and take is persuasive (and rare). When he pulls the sword from the tree. he sings cleanly and honestly without forcing but to be fair, without quite the needed impact either. This is an interesting way to sing a lot of this music by a total professional; I'd be interested in hearing that earlier CD. But I'm willing to bet we never see him again at the Met.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">Jonas Kaufmann began, he has said, with a voice he hated, "like Peter Schreier". Schreier had a small, bright, rather white tone but made a distinguished career in Bach, in Mozart roles and in some large character roles (he is a wonderful Mime in the Janowski Ring, available cheap from Sony). He is also a conductor. Kaufmann took the risk of changing his entire technique to build a darker, fuller, larger tone, that would make him a candidate for leading roles. He did this while married (to a singer) and raising children, so he obviously had both courage and a lot of faith in himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">He used the technique pioneered by an American, Douglas Stanley who was very influential across Europe, but especially in Germany. Kaufmann changed his voice with the very last living student who had actually worked directly with Stanley. Stanley's method was controversial and still enrages pedagogues who insist that it ruins more voices than it helps (Hildegard Behrens was taught the Stanley method by Jerome Lo Monaco, who had also worked with Stanley himself, her badly tuned shrieking speaks for itself -- it certainly doesn't sing. But her motives were the same as Kaufmann's. She started as a light lyric and wanted to sing the big roles; she praised Lo Monaco for teaching her to use her chest voice, among other things. But Nelson Eddy was also a Stanley apostle and kept a very nice tone).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">(Stanley gives Eddy a lesson)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">Stanley's main idea was to throw out the old notions of "placement" and "making the sound" and instead concentrated on giving the singer a maximum control of his/her larynx. By lowering the larynx, freeing jaw and tongue and breathing correctly, Stanley argued, any voice would become larger, darker and the singer's stamina would increase. Stanley's disciples modified his teaching somewhat, training their students to judge in preparing a role when to use the lowered larynx and when to let the larynx ride higher, using (slightly) some of the "old fashioned" ideas of "head tone", sensation based singing, which reflects changes in the vocal folds (feeling a "buzz" above the bridge of the nose, or at the top of the scalp).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">Ideally, then, a Stanley trained singer could go back and forth; Kaufmann could sing with far more force and thrust than he had with his conventional training, but still sing softly and sweetly when he wished, and there was no danger to his top. Actually, Stanley doesn't effect the extremes of the voice much. Even those who the method very likely harms, such as Behrens, keep high notes and can belch out low ones however long they sing. If there is going to be wear on the tone it is in the middle where the voice can stiffen or even fall back on the throat (both happened to Behrens after a few years as an international singer), and tuning can suffer especially throughout the middle (true of Behrens) and as time goes on over the entire range (Behrens' high shrieks though they thrilled certain sexually ambiguous male Asians for some reason were usually very sharp, but after a while her middle would either stiffen into sharpness or sag into a horrifying flatness).</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">For a lot of people, including idiot Wagner fetishes, screaming is part of the thrill -- the singers scream for hours, then <b>they</b> scream in adulation. Such fans are fools of course, Leider, Flagstad and Melchior were not screamers, and the last two, both using rather conventional methods, lasted a very long time. But then again, no one would ever have heard of Hildegard Behrens outside the German circuit if she had not dropped her jaw, mangled her larynx and shrieked like a banshee. Oh, she <b><i>acted</i></b> too. She raised her shoulders and popped her eyes. Isn't that acting?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">So far Kaufmann is holding up. He and Anna Netrebko (a coarse, hard Tatyana in the Met's recent Onegin, breathing hard and screaming flat now and then) have been marketed the same way. But it came easier to Netrebko who out of the box had a very attractive and at times, beautifully full tone. It took Kaufmann longer. They are the same age but for no reason I am going to bet on his holding up longer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Verdi, one might expect, would expose him much more than Wagner. But in fact, the best performances I have seen him give at the Met have been in three non Wagnerian roles, Cavaradossi where his high A sharps on "Vittoria!" really flashed out into the house, thrilling the audience; a phenomenally well acted and sung Don Jose; and his Faust, which if not ideal, contained some very impressive singing. However much vocal manipulating he is doing, he has held on to a basically lovely and quite distinctive timbre; he has an easy top and he sings within his means. He had a lot more volume in Zurich and Munich than he has at the Met but in the huge house he does not force. I didn't think the Siegmund special, the Parsifal was a very shrewd piece of singing, carefully judged and very effective when need be. For today's audience it helps that he's great looking and by operatic standards a persuasive actor. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">On the Verdi album he has very good Italian, not only pronouncing well, but with what Italians call <i>intenzione</i>, using the color and emphasis within the word to convey meaning and emotion. His tone is firm and arresting, if not always strictly speaking glamorous in the sense of Tucker or Corelli. He makes a wide range of dynamic and coloristic choices, some of them self conscious but many of them provide an expressive impact, which has gotten far too rare even from Italians. That easy, thrusting top is also right in this style and imparts a sense of excitement to what he does.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b>O tu che in seno agli'angeli</b> from <b>La Forza del Destino</b> is a heart felt, exceptionally accomplished performance of a killer aria -- it's been a very long time since one has heard this combination of vocal skill and emotional readiness. Though the mikes come in for a close up and he ignores the written portamenti, he certainly manages a glamorous <b>Celeste Aida</b>, with a very impressive breath span, The tricky rise to the high B flat on "ergete un tro(no)" is thrilling and he carries the phrase over, making a very long diminuendo holding the piano f into the start of the reprise, and he ends the aria as written with a <i>morendo</i> (dying away) of the high B flat attacked very softly. The vowels on the two earlier B flats are opened more than is usual for him, very exciting, but that final "o" on "sol" is very covered, I believe I saw the poster at Opera-L, Gualtier Malde, use the term <i>cupo piano</i> to describe Angela Meade doing something similar, so if you read that, here's an example!</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Barcarole from <b>Un Ballo in Maschera</b> is somewhat throaty ("ingolata" is what Italians say) and without much charm, but Riccardo/Gustavo's long scena, <b>Forse la soglia attinse... ma se m'e forza perditi</b> is given with passion, with relatively open vowels and much sweet soft singing. The final scene of act three of <b>Il Trovatore</b> is given complete, with Erika Grimaldi throwing in Leonora's lines. "<b>Ah, si, ben mio" </b>is fast. It's marked adagio and this isn't one, and for one of the only times in the album Kaufmann muscles his way through, sounding decidedly like a German, a little rough and the tone throaty. He scoops intervals and grunts his way through "dal ferro ostil trafitto ch'io resti fra le vittime..." in a manner better suited to <b>Tiefland.</b> He also smears the implied coloratura writing earlier, not firmly establishing the sixteenth notes on "il braccio avro piu forte" for example. He does manage the two trills (first one is better) but ignores the demi-staccati, a feature of this aria (for example ("la mor - te a me" -- or later, "so - lo in ciel" -- these form grupetti that add contrast to the slow melody and are part of Verdi's emotional rhetoric). The fast sixteenth notes in <b>Di quella pira</b> are smeared, his voice isn't responsive enough to do them, and he ignores the <i>marcato</i> signs that are all over the aria, "madre infelice" for example. The descent from the first unwritten high C is very clumsy, the second unwritten high C sounds throaty and although he hangs on, it's not easy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">The great </span><b style="font-size: 19px;">Luisa Miller </b><span style="font-size: 19px;">scena starts unpromisingly, the grand recitative, "oh fede negar potessi" is too fast and Kaufmann's sound seems backward, but the aria goes well. The tempo seems right (marked andante, the solid conductor is Pier Giorgio Morandi) and though his tone is slightly rough, he does catch the nostalgia and grief in Rodolfo's remembrance of happier times, and while the closed "o's" aren't ideal ("lo squardo innamorato") the whole has a convincing shape and the play of soft and softer singing finds some honey in his tone. The </span><b style="font-size: 19px;">Otello</b><span style="font-size: 19px;"> arias are done well too. Though I thought "Dio, mi potevi" too considered sounding, there is a deeply committed and beautifully sung " niun mi tema". </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">The fans on line think Kaufmann will sing <b>EVERYTHING</b>. I don't know how well he would do some of these Verdi roles, or whether he'd have the volume in the biggest houses for some of the Wagner roles. But the recent Wagner CD was a very successful record artistically. This Verdi compilation is somewhat more rough and ready with singing that occasionally shows strain or contrivance. Sadly, it does seem as though he is imitating Domingo now and again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">And that brings us to Domingo the baritone. But this has gone on long enough and I have already bashed the tenor. Caruso when once asked what made a great tenor, said, "luck and good health". Domingo has had both to a remarkable degree; at an advanced age for anyone, let alone an opera singer (he is in his seventies, though the exact birth date has been debated) he still can make a sound. It's not a baritone sound, and it's not rich and beautiful, but we live in a time with no impressive baritones in the big Italian roles. The days are long gone when Taddei, Gobbi, Guelfi, Bastianini, Panerai emerged into the world after World War 2, and Americans like Warren, Merrill and somewhat later, the younger Cornell Macneil were active, more or less at the same time, and the Germans had the glorious sounding Josef Metternich, Russians had the improbably beautiful sounding Pavel Lisitsian, the Estonians had Georg Ots and the Romanians had Nicolai Herlea. A second generation of Italians emerged with Cappuccilli and </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">the French born Italian, Managuerra</span><span style="font-size: 19px;"> (both dead)</span><span style="font-size: 19px;">, Bruson and Nucci (though old, still singing now and then). The people trotting out on the world stages today range from lovely lyrics who force unmercifully to bellowers with no real vocal quality and no interpretive or stylistic affinity for the roles they sing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">In that world Domingo seems less like an egomaniac unable to let go, and more sensible. Though none of the singing here matches the better let alone the best versions put on record since the cylinder (do people know of let alone care about Amato, Ruffo, the miracle Battistini, de Luca, Giraldoni, Stracciari, Ancona?), none of it is disgraceful. More arresting is the realization that Domingo really understands how this music should go. Whether he can give voice to that insight memorably has to be put to one side, but from vivid recitative, beautifully and meaningfully pronounced, to arias that have at least the right musical shape and emotion, he really does more than his rivals today. He belonged to the last generation that really felt this music and identified with the style; and he has survived as a demonstrator of what can be done for the bland and clueless who are hired everywhere. I for one think there are very impressive people out there who just aren't hired at the big houses or promoted; I've heard some very impressive Americans, struggling in their forties. But if one simply takes the familiar names, Domingo has an old man's triumph -- maybe more symbolically than in actual sound -- but then again, most of the others sing badly despite their relative youth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">One of the great Verdi baritones, Pasquale Amato</span><br />
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-61140969084671827902013-10-15T00:01:00.000-07:002015-06-10T01:33:04.868-07:00Verdi Tells the Truth<br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am sorry to do another Opera Blog. I don’t have to. Saturday the fifth, I saw the Philadelphia Orchestra do the Britten Variations on a Theme of Purcell, and the Mahler Fourth, a symphony I adore – which has a quote from<b> Aida</b> by Giuseppe Verdi. That occurs in bar 80 of the Third Movement. In the opera, it is to the words: “Far from the sight of all humans – lontan’ d’ogni umano squardo.” That certainly suits the “private” nature of this movement, at least until the explosion at the end. Mahler, always economical, used the same melodic tag in the slightly later <b>K</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>indertotenlieder</b>, in the second song “… warum so dunkle Flammen”. But Aida got there first! And then in the Purcell Variations Britten uses the “polacca” rhythm so typical of Verdi’s cabalettas (fast sections) for the variation which most prominently features the strings.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But then, the night before the Orchestra, I saw Verdi’s first hit, <b>Nabucco</b>, as presented by Opera Philadelphia. It was as though one could not escape Giuseppe Verdi. And this is his birthday year, his two-hundredth birthday.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One can never get away from Verdi in the opera house, now. For a long time, he was an object of contempt but now he is almost as dominant as Puccini. Oddly enough, one must look to the later 20th century for Verdi’s influence.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the generations immediately following his death (in 1901), only a few opera composers used his work as a template. Chief of those was Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari who used <b>Falstaff </b>as a basis for his short, charming Goldoni based operas. The best known is <b>I quatro rusteghi</b> from1906 and even better, his quietly heartbreaking <b>Il Campiello</b> from 1936. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was Igor Stravinsky who shocked intellectuals who thought Verdi was a joke by citing him in his great <b>Oedipus Rex</b> from 1927, the first four notes sung by the chorus are from <b>Aida</b>. Oddly enough, Ralph Vaughan Williams also quotes or near-quotes Verdi, most obviously in his last symphony, the 9th , 1956-57, and Verdi is never very far away from Benjamin Britten’s mind and permeates <b>Billy Budd</b> (there is also an homage to Verdi in one of his early masterpieces, <b>Variations on a theme of Frank Bridge</b>).</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although Verdi returned to his own version of Monteverdi’s recitar cantando in <b>Falstaff</b>, and various verismo composers are aware of that (Puccini most obviously in <b>La fanciulla del west</b>), Massenet first, and Wagner, eventually, triumphed among the Italian opera composers who came after Verdi, creating the verismo movement. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wagner was the massive weight on 20th century composers, those who adored his work, and those who hated it (even Gliere uses <i>The Annunciation of Death</i> motif from <b>Die Walküre</b> in his shall we say, kitschy <b>Concerto for Coloratura Soprano and Orchestra</b>!!).</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Falstaff </b>always strikes me as the best Verdi opera. Of course, that is fatuous. In a very long career, "Joe Green”, as his name translates, had written for a variety of reasons, mainly commercial, but covering a very large range of effects. He had been so successful by 1847 when he was 34 that he seriously thought the first version of <b>Macbeth</b> would be his last work.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He had met the woman with whom he would spend his life, Giuseppina Strepponi, who had created the role of Abigaille in <b>Nabucco</b>, lost her voice, but became very close to the composer in Paris where she had retired with her brood of illegitimate children.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi refused to marry her for twelve years after their serious commitment to one another. His reason was that in doing so he would have become financially responsible for her bastard sons. They had “out of wedlock” children, no one is sure how many. Verdi made his devout father cart the ones that lived to the local convent and drop them off as unwanted – the old man, evidently wept and said the rosary the whole time – quite a feat of cart driving.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As for Josephine and Joe, they played a lot of billiards and if Joe didn’t win, he broke things. Also, at the time of <b>Macbeth</b> he had made enough money to farm full time, which he always claimed was his first ambition. And he was serious – throughout his life his big farm was a technological marvel – he even imported expensive irrigation equipment from England. He acquired land but suffered a serious reversal in the agricultural slump that occurred in Italy in the mid-1860’s and continued for the rest of Verdi’s life. </span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But he couldn’t give up writing for the stage. I think he was a man of many poses; the gentleman farmer was one. But he loved Paris, the glamor of the stage; and the ladies of the stage, too. He was not faithful to Strepponi, which she knew and endured. And perhaps, mindful that he had written lucrative hits, he wanted to show he was more than a writer of tunes for which the organ grinders of the world and their monkeys were profoundly grateful.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, harmony and orchestration mattered only incidentally in his world – primarily the Italian opera though he kept abreast of newer trends and the influence of Hector Berlioz shows up now and then. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were a few in the nineteen sixties who also felt that “systems of composition and musical aesthetics” were overrated and had done more harm than good. There are people even now who feel that the increasing emphasis on harmonic surprise and experiment that began after World War l led inevitably to an alienation of the public that before then had been thrilled and stimulated by the idea of “new music”.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These ideas are not surprisingly embraced by right wing hacks such as Jay Nordlinger and the mindless Manuela Hoelterhoff, Queen of the art province of the Dwarf King, Michael Bloomberg (I once mentioned George Crumb to Hoelterhoff. Her response: “Who?” And this wins a Pulitzer Prize IN MUSIC?).</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They also find an echo among harmless eccentrics. Surely, they argue, as I saw online this past weekend, that Nadia Boulanger had systematically designed a system so that all the Americans who journeyed to Paris to study with her would destroy melody and with it new music.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess that explains the arcane, tuneless exercises of Burt Bacharach, her student. <i>The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow</i> is a regular time bomb to disable Western Music, since its composer, Charles Strouse, was also one of her students.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They used Elliott Carter as an example, forgetting that the eminently tuneful Aaron Copland, the lush David Diamond, the thoughtful and lovely Walter Piston and the folksy but ironic Virgil Thomson had all studied with her.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But Carter actually wrote tunes, and very beautiful music, so have many great composers I can think of, such as those villains, Ligeti and Messiaen (both more aware of Verdi’s music than many assume). </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s well to remember that <b>La Boheme</b> was described as a “tuneless sewer” in New York in its very early days and few people would describe <b>The Rite of Spring</b> as bubblegum, yet the first CD of the fresh Philadelphians is that noisy Stravinsky piece, which occasioned a riot (or something staged to be one) at its world premiere.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A group of pimps such as DG would hardly launch a new association and more importantly to them, because who </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">likes music after all, a new cutie conductor to promote, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">with an off-putting work, would they?</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysNFOt0R41sv2wK6wMhhOd_He0YcuYMltls2bldwbqCVTCbG6ouVklmM31X4FSxKedMsB2cm2QhQpFNQ98VTuwmabLf455KXAh2YQaR-0P8UbBi_-94xLY4EB25M91_lO7RRGp8rGSRJw/s1600/redsox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysNFOt0R41sv2wK6wMhhOd_He0YcuYMltls2bldwbqCVTCbG6ouVklmM31X4FSxKedMsB2cm2QhQpFNQ98VTuwmabLf455KXAh2YQaR-0P8UbBi_-94xLY4EB25M91_lO7RRGp8rGSRJw/s1600/redsox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It probably comes down to how one hears, how many chances one will give a new piece to unfold its magic (if it has any), and what those trite words such as <i>melody</i> and <i>beautiful </i>really mean. Of course, people drawn primarily to opera now are nearly always </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">profoundly unmusical and many are fools.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This may not always have been the case; Verdi and Puccini were very responsive to music and so were the people around them. But the opera house has had to juggle the sports arena and the theater, the whorehouse and the church, more so now, when all the arts we inherited from the 19th century are so marginal, so unimportant, so bizarre to the billions. With age comes a need for the very, very familiar, and </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">our audience in America is ancient, so the recent polling suggests. And there </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">is this delightful and typical sensibility recently posted on an opera site:</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>“Listening to a lot of Verdi today. That will</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>include listening to the Requiem tonight while</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">watching Oakland and Detroit battling to face my Red Sox..... </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bob in New </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hampshire”</span></span></i><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since Verdi’s <b>Requiem</b> is a literally tremendous work, </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">the first where he shows, in a sustained way, his enormous musical culture and </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">imagination, and reveals a harsh, ferocious heartbreaking despair (as opposed </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">to “faith’), an art form for idiots who no longer really listen or feel but need </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">a noisy thumping of the big drum as background for the TV is surely doomed. A fellow standee </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">at La Scala greeted Carlos Kleiber as he took his bow before act one of <b>Otello</b> by screaming “Povero Verdi!” But </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">that was a disgruntled fan’s view of a great conductor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">That some among the few </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">who care about a performance of the <b>Requiem </b>need to be distracted from it is one </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">cancer on our culture. Poor us!!</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Melodic inflection is not so easy, though it’s a simpler technique than some of Madame Boulanger’s apostles were drawn to. If one takes Verdi’s setting of the <i>Sleepwalking</i> <i>Scene</i>, Lady Macbeth’s broken phrases are part of a tune, yet the way they are set on the melody dramatizes her madness and provides her with a surprising pathos, stronger in music than in the play. The last act of <b>Luisa Miller</b>, most of <b>Rigoletto</b>, all of <b>Il Trovatore</b>, show an amazing resourcefulness with sung melody. Verdi is able to establish characters, complicate them, and give them tremendous emotional force by designing his melodic effects precisely, supporting them efficiently in the orchestra and using a large number of simple </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">devices – repetition, delayed cadences, syncopation, and contrast in tempo to </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">build suspense and achieve emotional release. He learned some of this in Paris from hearing Chopin.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Il Trovatore</b>, still mocked by the morons, is an extended nocturne </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of remarkable imagination (with pauses for the inevitable marches and gypsy </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">choruses). It is a triumph of the Romantic imagination. And while perhaps <b>La Traviata</b> relies too much on the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">waltz – of love, of pathos, of party – and the mazurka and the march, it too is </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">touched with a persuasive theatrical fever. And though his means are simple, in </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the last act Prelude, Verdi achieves a precise and chilling portrait of death </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by suffocation, a portent of Violetta’s end through TB, but an implication that </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">stupid convention, mindless Puritanism, middle-class hypocrisy have killed her </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">as surely as an infection not understood at the time and thought to be a </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sexually transmitted disease.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A pity that Verdi’s ambition to be taken seriously as a composer took its toll on this remarkable gift. By the time of the revision of <b>Macbeth</b>, first given in Paris in 1865, <i>The Sleepwalking scene</i>, which surely was the overwhelming climax of the first version and startlingly original when new, seemed crude after the many new orchestral touches, the harmonic </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">daring of the new ballet, the hard, stunning compression of <i>La luce langue</i>, the astonishing power of the new chorus, <i>Patria oppressa</i>, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">but a devastating dramatization of the displacement and anguished </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">exhaustion of refuges we’ve come to know too well in the 20th </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">century. </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We lament simplicity (and mistake it for simple-mindedness but sometimes in the theater it is far more compelling than complexity.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi's early years are described as his “galley years” where he faced the typical pressures of Italian opera composers, tight deadlines, dreaded censors from government and from church, where it was hard for a creator to assert his rights against a </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ruthless impresario or the prima donna (though as an old man, Verdi allowed </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that bad as the prima donnas had been, the rising vogue for powerful conductors </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was worse). But it was these years that made him very rich and very celebrated.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The middle period began with three amazing achievements, <b>Rigoletto</b>, <b>La traviata</b> and <b>Il trovatore</b>, all three packed with remarkable operatic music and none conventional in theme or characters. Rigoletto is a hunchback who works as a jester, Violetta is a whore. To get around Italian Puritanism and church </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">interference, Verdi and his librettist Piave had to come up with a title </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">different from the French novel and play, <b>La Dame aux camélias</b>. They </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">chose the arcane Italian word <i>traviata</i>, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a female who is an outcast for vague reasons. Finally, in that riot of romantic </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rampage, <b>Il Trovatore</b>, Verdi was </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">able to bring to life, an amazing character, like Rigoletto, or Violetta, a divided </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">character, by no means “good” in a conventional sense. Rigoletto indirectly </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">causes the death of his adored daughter, and Azucena, in <b>Trovatore</b>, perhaps means to kill the boy she has raised as her own </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">and then… perhaps not.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a romantic, Verdi was drawn to the colorful, the unexpected, the extravagantly theatrical. But perhaps he too was “divided”. A creator does not draw on his or her own life literally, as the idiot reviewers often suggest. But creators might draw on something hidden within them, a secret strangeness that only they know.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi made up a life for himself, one he stuck to even when he was world famous. It is encapsulated in this sentimental portrait:</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIz26Zc2ohr8kgrfCAPjAqk2qlQCW1APJ1ZDyCJqncf-2vaL7gT9dnT_xNowxK0TJE6qGR9pZHz5uJuaisfFZUbInPMbpy5AxyDJXfJ13tthactlDycvhWxKtkL6diOHkVUDNSgUrGYxH/s1600/Verdilie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcIz26Zc2ohr8kgrfCAPjAqk2qlQCW1APJ1ZDyCJqncf-2vaL7gT9dnT_xNowxK0TJE6qGR9pZHz5uJuaisfFZUbInPMbpy5AxyDJXfJ13tthactlDycvhWxKtkL6diOHkVUDNSgUrGYxH/s1600/Verdilie.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But Verdi wasn’t a peasant. He came from small business people, his father owned an inn as well as land that he rented out to be farmed. In a poor part of a poor country that didn’t mean abundance but it was several steps above peasant stock or even the working poor. Verdi loved the lie that his mother had taken him in swaddling clothes and hid in the church to escape Russian troops during the Napoleonic wars – but the time line doesn’t add up. An uncomfortable truth though was that the result of those wars was a huge defeat for the Catholic Church which had to sell a lot of its land. Verdi’s father remained devout, a Catholic in faith as well as </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">politics and perhaps that is why Verdi (an atheist) hated him and treated him </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">so badly, even on his death bed.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi’s “true” father, Antonio Barezzi was of the other party. Barezzi was wealthy and may have bought some of the local Church land dividing the boy Verdi from his family. Barezzi</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was described as “music besotted” by a relative, with the kind of passion for that art that only an amateur can have. It’s not a surprise he worshiped Verdi. Eventually the boy Verdi lived in Barezzi’s house, fell in love with and married his daughter, who died as did their two children. Verdi suffered a grotesque, emotionally inexplicable loss, was struck down, he felt, by life. Though some </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">of the great Romantic composers had hard early lives (Beethoven perhaps as much </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">as Verdi, though the circumstances were different) none of them suffered as </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi did when so young.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi loved to claim he was uneducated as a musician and this monstrous fable was repeated in early biographies. But the best thing that happened to the young Verdi was his rejection by the Milan Conservatory, a third rate, backward place that educated </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">its students badly. He was past the age of eligibility though exceptions were </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sometimes made and his (perfectly adequate) piano playing was deemed </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">unimpressive. But the man Verdi studied with privately forced him to sweat over </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">counterpoint, posing difficult problems and demanding solutions. Verdi had to </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">study the great fugues of Frescobaldi, and to analyze the works of Haydn and Mozart – not for their tunes but for the miraculous ways those masters handled harmonic issues and form. This would not have happened at the conservatory. But finally, at the very end of his very last opera, Verdi writes a rumbustious but perfectly cogent fugue – its text? “All the world’s a joke and all the people </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">in it, clowns.”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Asked about <i>verismo</i>, the movement of “truth” in opera, Verdi wrote in 1871: “Copying the truth may be a good thing, but inventing the truth is better, much better.” Verdi had the genius to create “truth” in stories that strike us as silly -- the craziness of <b>I Lombardi</b>, or the last act of <b>Ernani</b>, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">or the coincidences of <b>La Forza del </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>destino</b>, the lightening changes in mood in so many of the operas (Amonaso </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hurls Aida to the ground, cursing her but a second later is embracing her as </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">she relents) all are managed with such musical </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">force and impact that one is swept into the unlikely or strange.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi was an angry, cruel and ruthless man who frequently treated allies badly, and was sexually exploitative of women. He had few friends of any kind (hence all those billiard games with </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Giuseppina) but when he found one, the conductor, Angelo Mariani, he used him </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">like a slave.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The intensity of the feeling between the two was real; leading </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the great Verdi scholar Mary Jane Phillips-Matz to shock an Italian seminar of critical </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">eminences by claiming the two had had an affair!! (Very unlikely, but it was </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">her attempt to explain the tenderness and intensity in the relationship between </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don Carlo and the “brother” who dies for him, Rodrigo, very rare qualities </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">between men in Verdi operas and their friendship was at its height during the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">composition and subsequent revisions of <b>Don </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Carlo</b>).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mariani was all too willing to grovel to the composer but when he </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">had an amorous triumph with the soprano, Theresa Stolz, who Verdi desired, the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">composer turned on him viciously and continued his cruelty even as Mariani lay </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">dying of cancer.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The longest male survivor of an intimate relationship with </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Verdi was his invaluable disciple, Emanuele Muzio, who was a “yes man” but not a </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">toady. In letters to third parties, he had many the story of Verdi’s bullying </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and harshness – “men of genius torment themselves but torment others more,” he </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">wrote as a warning to Verdi’s publisher, Tito Ricordi, who was on friendly </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">terms with the composer but was afraid of him all the same.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But Verdi knew all this. There is sometimes a chilly awareness in his work. In no other opera does a character curse God except in <b>La Forza del destino</b>. Don Alvaro who has seen the love of his life stabbed to death after terrible suffering in search of her, screams: “E tu paga non eri, o vendetta di Dio? Maledizione! Maledizione!” His longed for Leonora gets him to repent as she dies, but the moment is bloodcurdling in its nihilistic -- and as we know from the 20th century -- realistic fury at the helplessness of human beings stuck on this malignant planet.</span></span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what can we do but take our chances and smile? In <b>Falstaff,</b> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the mocking self quotations are numerous and nasty, especially the use the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sublime <i>Hostias</i> movement from the Requiem </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">is put to in the tormenting of poor Falstaff – it’s also a send up of Church music. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But Verdi understands something about drama and its origins. Tragedy means </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“goat song” in Greek. The tragic hero becomes a sacrificial beast to be offered </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">up for the salvation of the community. And there is something sacred in the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">obese beast, Falstaff. The iconic mask of comedy is a smile, and yet, as Eleonora Duse wrote to Verdi after </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">seeing the opera, “how sad is this farce of yours!” I think she knew what she </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">was talking about.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-15438304766018434582013-10-02T19:15:00.000-07:002013-10-02T19:15:18.419-07:00The Dead City<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There’s been a lot of
mourning for City Opera. It is dead. Various Pollyannas, mostly idiots, think
it will rise from its ashes. But our world is now very different than it was in
1944 when the company started performing. Ordinary people with modest incomes could live
in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Manhattan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and the Boroughs. There was proletarian pride, not
only in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. Americans were proud to be workers; they saw their
own value and their crucial contribution to a society coming back from a
devastating depression. The rich were “other”, not our betters, not our rulers. Most people had
known hard times, poverty was no disgrace and there was a pride in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> as exemplified by a government that despite politics
as usual actually saw its function as being to help people, all people. It had
literally saved the lives of families who had seen their lives go up in smoke,
and it had also fought a war. The troops were mostly but not only from poor, working class
or farming backgrounds but whatever level of society had spawned them, they
fought side by side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The arts were not invisible;
they were not impossible. There were a lot of references to “high art” in
popular culture. And art was considered an important part of society even by
people who really weren’t that interested. Opera was somewhat esoteric, yet a number of opera stars became well known to people through the radio. And
the radio provided for a fair number of people those serendipitous, spontaneous
experiences of music that could grow, gradually, unexpectedly, almost magically
into an interest, even a strong interest. Of course, there were a lot of
Americans who were not far from European roots and whose grandparents, if not
their parents, had been proud of the music, the visual arts, the poetry, the
fiction produced “in the old country.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Many people knew something
about music: from the church choir, from the high school band, from the small
orchestras that played in pavilions in parks in the summer (they even gave rise
to a vanished style of music called “<b>semi-classical</b>”). And yes, there was a
summer, usually not unbearable for long, and there was a fall and very
definitely there was a winter. In spring, and there really was something we all
knew to be spring, we walked and courted and smiled and danced and there were
those orchestras and their semi-classical selections providing the perfect
punctuation to a day where it was easy to forget bills and sorrows and worries
– to music, lovely, lovely music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Above all there was a belief
in the truth rather than the dress up of art. We saw ourselves and each other
at the theater, sitting in the cheap seats and looking down at the “swells”; or
sitting downstairs in the wider seats for bigger bottoms and paying the fatter price. We
poor people looked down and saw our “betters”, except they were no better than we were. Our "betters" looked up and saw eager faces, sometimes
shabby clothes but perceived not an enemy</span> <span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">but
allies who had fought for them, alongside them or their sons, who had lost
loved ones in the war, and if the truth be known, even some of the swells had lived through periods of
worried cost cutting in the depths of the Depression. And when the lights went down, distinctions vanished, we laughed or cried, or both, we vibrated to music,
were stunned or shocked or thrilled by plays -- as one, as equals, as Americans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">City Opera was founded on the
notion that opera, strange as it seems, was for everybody. That it could be
given inexpensively, funding – modest – could be found with confidence and in
that special theater, the opera house, a kind of magic could happen. Sometimes.
If not magic, fun. And if it was one of <i>those</i>
evenings that all performing organizations have, it hadn’t cost much to get in,
even for the swells. And there was always the amusement of seeing the familiar
faces, </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> faces, in a shabby but comforting place. At the City Center, where City Opera gave performances for twenty two years, even after the move to Lincoln Center, we would settle back and think, "I'm home."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This was life in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. And it was destroyed. Nobody poor can live there. We
are no longer allies. We are cliques. Nothing brings us together. Even the
cliques split. Our government makes war on us: this week they shut down so
children with cancer could no longer get treatment, or to be less <i>operatic</i> they were cut off from food,
went hungry even though their parents worked for a preposterously low minimum
wage, which a segment of our ruling class, their power bought for them by
billionaires, wants to lower.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Nobody much goes to the
theater, any theater, under any circumstances. The arts were elitist twenty
years ago; now they’re invisible. A pop culture driven by incredible stupidity,
violence, repetition which exists mainly to sell products has devoured
everything that isn’t designed to manipulate people into the mall. News is no
longer truly news, but a type of “reality TV” misleading, confusing,
incomplete, owned by the greedy and connected, infused with propaganda. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The radio is for talk,
idiotic, moronic, lying, repetitive, agenda driven talk, and for sports, which
exist to make huge amounts of money for the very rich. In TV commercials for those who can’t
afford the technology to avoid them, perhaps as a background, one will hear a
hint of an aria or a few notes from a symphony, no time for those surprising
jolts and ear worms, which once, long ago, drove people to find again the magic
in the unfolding of those themes, the context of that aria. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Where would a “new” City
Opera fit in a metropolis jammed with Russian and Chinese and Batlic
billionaires? And oh yes, there no longer is a spring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">There is a complex story
about the destruction of City Opera. Profoundly stupid, enormously rich board
members raided the endowment, wasted money on a Belgian Manager who never
expected to take the job, when he fled, they backed a fool and a fraud and now are
standing passively by while bankruptcy ends a company that for most of its
existence kept faith with the initiating vision of a mayor named La Guardia,
that there was space in New York for a “people’s opera”. But then again, those
board members and that fool will simply turn around and run for office,
probably as Republicans. And America no longer contains a “people’s” anything,
unless it is the unemployment line.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">(picture thanks to Simon Rich)</span>Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-73993245427019403912013-09-24T00:47:00.001-07:002013-09-25T03:05:26.543-07:00NO WIN BATTLES<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">On a list I frequent I’ve noticed the following recently: Rage about a British reviewer's dismissal of Giacomo Puccini’s last opera (uncompleted), </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Turandot</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. Then there appeared the following statement: “</span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Moses and Aaron </b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">(sic</span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">, </i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">of course, it’s </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Aron</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">), sophisticated? Schoenberg’s </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Moses and Aaron</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> (sic) has as much Sophistication of composition as
a breakfast cereal code ring of the 1950s. This is true of most of the later
works (anything after </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Verklärte Nacht</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">)
of Schoenberg’s ‘musical’ output.” [orthography: the poster's]. And then there was this in a discussion of
Giuseppe Verdi’s last opera: “I saw (heard) </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Falstaff</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> live only once. Never again! </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Falstaff</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> may be Verdi's critics darling but not the audience's The
beautiful last act Tenor aria is the only thing I remember from that
performance.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There was this morsel about
Pierre Boulez: <span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #222222;"> “</span>I </span>find Pierre<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="il">Boulez</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>a pointless dinosaur, whose music
represents a now-dead phase in Western music which will be the subject of
academic theses in future generations, as people struggle to comprehend HOW our
culture made such a massive wrong turn after World War II and forced mostly cacophony onto the listening
public, which, 70 years later, is still turning its back in favor of music
which attempts to connect emotionally. It just baffles me how the musical world took his acoustic drivel so seriously
for so many years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And then there was this from
a reigning expert who always claims Papal infallibility about intonation and
it’s always Papal Bull, since he is always wrong – clearly he doesn’t know up
from down and doesn’t read music or play an instrument. But here’s this savant
about <b>Turandot</b>: “Great voices can
make the opera libretti less distasteful than might otherwise be the case.
For many people, myself very emphatically included, great music making
trumps all other facets of the operatic experience.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Now, one can ask right away,
how does one get from <i>great voices </i>to
<i>great music making</i>? Luciano Pavarotti
had a great voice, no question about it – where was the music making? He
couldn’t count, keep time or shape a phrase. It was a wonderful sound. Now,
that’s not a sin and I can understand his success and his pride, especially
because the silvery timbre lasted a long time. But as a musician, as an
interpreter, as a stylist outside of a few roles he’d had drummed into his
dense head when he was young, he was a pig. It can be argued that there are
many singers with anywhere from very good voices to a smaller
number who really do have great vocal endowments who are clueless bores when it
comes to music -- if one loves music. And that’s the issue. Opera lovers in
general know and care very little about music; they have no love for it. They
have somewhere between ten and twenty old fashioned and arguably worthless works
that they have imprinted on their dinosaur brains and they listen mainly to the
highlights, and especially to the high notes, usually while doing other things.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">There may be time eventually
to get to the fetish divas, and the really great singers but today I am
thinking with love of Jan de Gaetani who one of the savants shrugged off as a
“teacher at Eastman”. She sang the often remarkable new music of her time, for
some of which she had to invent a technique (</span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Ancient Voices of Children</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> by George Crumb – still alive at 84 and
living around the corner from me -- is certainly one of the great vocal records
ever made by anybody and, of course, it’s also a wonderful piece). Crumb’s piece
requires all the things the obsessed claim that Maria Callas could do –
intense, wide ranging coloratura, a vast array of colors but in a style
entirely its own – a combination of challenges Callas never had to meet – or
chose to meet. The 19</span><sup>th</sup><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> century divas the nuts compared Callas to (stupidly; we’ll never know how they sounded) , all sang NEW MUSIC. They backed
living composers, they took risks with those composers, and like De Gaetani, though
not like Callas, they had to invent techniques to cope with the rapidly changing requirements of, in their cases, early romanticism. De Gaetani also finds the profound feeling in Crumb’s </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Apparition</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, collected on a record with
some Ives Songs. Her contribution to Elliott Carter’s </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Syringa</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> is phenomenal (and like Crumb’s piece it is a gorgeous
work).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But she had wide tastes. De
Gaetani was able to find the style and the sound for Charles Ives, hers is one
of the best Ives’ song collections, she was a revelation in Stephen Foster
(another remarkable recording) but she could imbue her timbre with the right
richness for more conventional repertoire; her records of Brahms, Debussy and
Ravel, for example. And she could find the right sound for those “tuneless”
Schoenberg compositions, <b>The Book of the
Hanging Gardens</b>, and other worthless works by poor Arnold, such as <b>Pierrot Lunaire, </b>and record one of the
most impressive accounts of <b>Erwartung</b>.
She could give Russian music both its deep melancholy and its elegance and she
even turned her hand to Cole Porter, accompanied by that great
American musician, Leo Smit. That may not be “Broadway” at its most colorful but
they find and relish exactly what is interesting musically in the work of a
composer who chose “show music” (of his tuneful era) but who was well trained (he
even did a stint in Vincent D’indy’s Scola Cantorum), and who had a remarkable,
witty, often ‘inside’ musical style sounding under those irresistible lyrics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="watch-title long-title yt-uix-expander-head" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" style="-webkit-user-select: auto; border: 0px; color: black; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; letter-spacing: -0.05em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; white-space: nowrap;" title="Arnold Schönberg, Das schöne Beet betracht ich mir im harren">(</span><span class="watch-title long-title yt-uix-expander-head" dir="ltr" style="-webkit-user-select: auto; border: 0px; color: black; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.05em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; white-space: nowrap;" title="Arnold Schönberg, Das schöne Beet betracht ich mir im harren"><span style="font-size: x-small;">De Gaetani --</span></span><span class="watch-title long-title yt-uix-expander-head" dir="ltr" style="-webkit-user-select: auto; border: 0px; color: black; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; letter-spacing: -0.05em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; white-space: nowrap;" title="Arnold Schönberg, Das schöne Beet betracht ich mir im harren"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Arnold Schönberg, Das schöne Beet betracht ich mir im harren -- from the Book of the Hanging Gardens</span></span><span class="watch-title long-title yt-uix-expander-head" dir="ltr" style="-webkit-user-select: auto; border: 0px; color: black; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; letter-spacing: -0.05em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; white-space: nowrap;" title="Arnold Schönberg, Das schöne Beet betracht ich mir im harren">)</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">De
Gaetani actually <i>made music</i>. She had
a fine voice, and an outstanding technique, but her objective was always to
crawl inside the notes and make them live. Her performances
actually live the way I believe music is meant to live; she doesn’t distort -- either
because she thinks that’s dramatic or to show off. She
brings one, I think, into contact with something real that exists as more than
a kind of white noise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Despite
stereo and the recent resurgence of “surround sound”, her records made live and
with a simple microphone are totally three dimensional.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Music really doesn’t
matter to everyone or perhaps even at all, one could spend a lot of time at the
end of a life, wondering what really does matter outside of one’s own next
breath, and come to think of it, that doesn’t matter much either. But for us
strangers here, bombarded by all sorts of particles we can’t quite apprehend and
may never understand, uncertain about what is real, if anything is, someone
like De Gaetani and as she would have been the first to insist, the composers
she worked so hard to understand and then <i>express</i>,
matter simply by being a lifeline for those who are drowning in the suffocating
banality of what most of us do. That ends for everybody, its purpose unclear, perhaps non existent. When she sings for a little while outside of someone's life, there really is something else, even if it will vanish. And if one’s brain has given one the wherewithal to hear it and make sense of
it (and just how we hear and process sound, and just how different every individual
is from all others in processing what is presented as sound remain topics of
research) <i>making music</i> is <i>making life.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><i><br /></i></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Enrico
Caruso did the same thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">(</span><span style="font-size: small;">Caruso invests a trifle with a lifetime of longing, "Cor 'ngrato" written for him</span><span style="font-size: 19px;"> </span>in 1911<span style="font-size: 19px;">)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;">Different times, different circumstances, certainly,
and he was a tenor! Yet he too sang mostly new music, in fact his command of
the new works of his time by a still vibrant Italian school is what made him
famous. As his records demonstrate (and the series on Naxos is the most
complete to date, thanks to Ward Marston) he sang a huge number of new songs,
many written for him. Like de Gaetani he didn’t live long, but he transcends death on record, life in all of its misery and joy and complexity and strangeness
sounds in his voice. Unlike de Gaetani he sang a lot of junk, but he has a way
of getting the most out of it. He <i>made music</i>, as she did; and the reasons that
his many imitators failed was not only because they didn’t understand how he
had produced his tone, and in forcing, lost their voices, but worse, because
they could not begin to live in music as he did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">Jan
reminds me of another singer almost forgotten now, Helga Pilarczyk, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">who
delivered great performances in the then "newer" music (though of course most of this
music wasn’t </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">new </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">at all). She made phenomenal
recordings such as </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b>Erwartung</b></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> which she recorded three times, with Robert Craft, Pierre
Boulez and best of all with the mad but often thrilling Hermann Scherchen in
1960. This has just been reissued on the Wergo label. Her handling of the vocal
style, a feverish but somehow lyrical intensity, is amazing. She is
utterly riveting, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">more than virtually
anyone else. She achieves what one would think is impossible, a singing, sometimes intoning, with incredible certainty of touch. She
manages to seem utterly spontaneous and completely authoritative. She and
Scherchen really understand the rhetoric of the piece and clearly adore it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">In
</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><b>Pierrot Lunaire</b></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"> she pitches lower than most anybody who has
recorded it, and it’s possible to feel she declaims too much, closing vowels
too quickly to avoid a sense of “singing”. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;">The first recording of Pierrot with Schoenberg
conducting and Erika </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Stiedry-Wagner reciting took place early in the
fall of 1940. </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Schoenberg sent a letter to Fritz and
Erika Stiedry suggesting </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">the
speaking part should be </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">returned to the "light, ironical,
satirical tone in which the piece was </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">actually conceived"</span>. </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Pilarczyk</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> didn't get that memo but h</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">er verbal authority is immense. But one must respect De Gaetani, Yvonne Minton with Boulez (one of the
most precise renderings of the “vocal line”) and Christine Schaefer, also with
Boulez, a very complete reading – though </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Pilarczyk</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> -- if arguably on the extreme side of what should be done with this score vocally -- has a feverish conviction I don’t
hear elsewhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">In
</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><b>Erwartung</b></span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Verdana; font-weight: normal;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">singers in an operatic style,
Jessye Norman with Pierre Boulez or James Levine, or Alexandra Marc (with the
late Giuseppe Sinopoli conducting with great nuance and flexibility) are far
more ordinary. Anja Silja, with her sometime husband, Cristoph Von Dohnanyi,
appended to his well considered account of </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><b>Wozzeck</b></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"> is
authoritative but that crazy spontaneity is not there. I think her recording of
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b>Pierrot Lunaire</b></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"> with Robert Craft is freer, reminding one that Igor Stravinsky found
hearing this music “The most prescient confrontation in my life.“<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Helga Pilarczyk, snippet from <b>Pierrot Lunaire</b>, with Boulez)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Pilarczyk also made two of the great Berg records,
one of the </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Wozzeck Suite</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, and
another of the </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Lulu Suite</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. They were
both conducted by Antal Dorati. In the </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Wozzeck
Suite,</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> her handling of the Bible reading scene has a heart break, a
longing, an intensity way beyond what Maria Callas could do with easier music. </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Pilarczyk</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> handles the song speech with an amazing musicality; she never loses
the musical sense that needs to be there, touching pitches and actually
phrasing musically while speaking, and when she erupts into singing (the heart
breaking cries of “Herr Gott! Herr Gott!” or later “Heiland!”) the effect is
electric. This too is living in music, giving voice to an ageless suffering. In
the </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Lulu Suite</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> she handles the
killer writing well, and does the Countess Geschwitz’ Liebestod to Lulu with tremendous
force. </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Pilarczyk</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> can be found in a Decca box (the </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Wozzeck Suite</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> is also appended to Dorati’s reading of Bartok’s </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Bluebeard’s Castle</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">). The obsessed can
find a complete (that is uncompleted) </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Lulu</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
with </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Pilarczyk</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> from 1966 on tape (I’m not sure this “pirate” has ever been
pressed onto a record or CD, why bother when there is another </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Turandot</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> to get out?).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">To return to the start of this blog, this mixture
of think piece and review set off the hounds<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.spectator.co.uk/arts/opera/9025731/turandot-is-a-disgusting-opera-that-is-beyond-redemption/"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.spectator.co.uk/arts/opera/9025731/turandot-is-a-disgusting-opera-that-is-beyond-redemption/</span></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Generally these kinds of things are useless. The
attackers of this writer are all -- what are the words I'm searching for? Opera lovers, perhaps? Puccini certainly was
condemned as much as Giuseppe Verdi, and I think as unjustly. Verdi finally
began to gain some acceptance both with time and gradually with a greater
attention to what he had actually written as opposed to what was often heard (and still is, sadly).
The great three volume examination of his works by Julien Budden, the respect
of a composer such as Benjamin Britten, the ever changing Igor Stravinsky
finally coming down on his side, and the persistence of prominent reviewers
such as Andrew Porter and the sympathy of a great critic such as late Charles
Rosen moved Verdi away from the hurdy-gurdy and into at least the vestibule of the Pantheon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Puccini though has had a struggle. Joseph Kerman
gained a certain fame by calling <b>Tosca</b> “a shabby little shocker”, in his
influential, dubious book, <b>Opera as
Drama (</b>far from as rigorously scholarly as it should have been and full of
bizarre and suspect personal idiosyncrasies – one doesn’t know much about
Professor Kerman, but somehow one shouldn’t know that he hates sex). In fact,
he’s kinder about Puccini than he is about Richard Strauss, Benjamin Britten
and a host of others – he also poorly informed about Strauss’ work, and although
his book was first published in 1956, there was enough Britten by then for his being as poorly informed about his work as he is to be a serious fault. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">As a youngster, I remember reading a then popular
writer on music called B. H. Hagen saying some music was “trash, like the work
of Ravel and Puccini.” But I loved Ravel at the time, since I was trying to be
a pianist and had seen how well made and beautiful his music was. No one with a
mind holds such a low opinion of Ravel today, though I suppose one could hear arguments
on where he stands on the Parthenon of musical geniuses (higher than some,
lower than others, perhaps and really does that sort of ranking really matter?
More important is that some idiot, able to call <b>L’enfant et le sortil</b></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>è</b></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>ges</b>
or the Piano Concertos or the string quartet or <b>Le tombeau de Couperin</b> “trash”
was actually taken seriously). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But Puccini’s intellectual supporters such as the
father of Andrew Lloyd Webber (hence the quote from The <b>Girl of the Golden West</b> in <b>The
Phantom of the Opera)</b>, and more importantly, the brilliant book by the Sch</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">ön</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">berg
disciple, Mosco Carner, did not gain traction. Budden’s book on Puccini,
written in illness, did not have the same force of his work on Verdi. And
Puccini’s early operas were so over familiar, often poorly performed, that he
was an easy target. Also, an old fashioned but still potent objection to opera
as a form can be made about his operas among many others: composers must
compose to librettos that can be grossly inferior writing on all levels, and
even when effective taken on their own terms, are now stuck in a dramaturgy that has become meaningless
and silly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Can music transcend foolish situations and clumsy
words? Well, Wagner’s music (or quite a lot of it) does. One could argue that
Beethoven was dealing with an obvious and none too believable “rescue play”,
but with Leonore/Fidelio’s great cry of “Abscheulicher!” about the monstrous
Pizarro and the wonderful scene that ensues, the opera does begin to make the
surface of the plot less important. Beethoven also gives life to timeless
scenes such as the prisoners, let out of their cells, seeing sunlight, breathing good
air. It doesn’t matter really that the “boy” Fidelio usually looks like a
curvaceous lady in early middle age, and Florestan, chained and trapped in a
deep dungeon, is perfectly visible and clearly well fed when he cries out,
“God! It’s dark in here!!” That’s opera, perhaps; silly. But in the right hands,
it is compelling, moving. Even when a chubby Leonore gives an obese Florestan (and
I’ve seen that more often than not), a small bit of bread and he thanks
her, it is terribly moving, simply because of the way the composer writes it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Puccini was not Beethoven of course; he was a
commercial composer, probably one of the richest in history, turning out
theatrically manipulative works that superficially move an audience but in
which nothing important is at stake (freedom, decency, justice, mercy are all
at stake in <b>Fidelio</b>; it’s hard to find those themes in Puccini). And it was
held against him that a lot of his music was hard to resist. As the great Sch</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">ön</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">berg
pupil by then a formidable teacher, Leonard Stein, said to me at Cal Arts, “sometimes one just has to draw
the curtains, dim the lights and listen to <b>Suor
Angelica</b>!” Yet it hardly seems fair to call the result trash, or even
cynical. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">La
Boheme </span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">may not concern itself with the great themes of
life on this earth, but the story, told swiftly and without grandiosity,
remains resonant in many ways, and Puccini’s economy, rightness of touch, melodic
fecundity all make a great effect. It may be harder to make a case for <b>Madame Butterfly </b>or <b>Manon Lescaut</b>. But <b>Butterfly</b> is beautifully worked out musically, its use of authentic
Japanese themes in a well argued symphonic manner with much subtlety of
interaction between motifs, gives the story a sense of inevitability and
genuine emotional power. <b>Manon Lescaut</b>
is more uneven than Massenet’s opera, <b>Manon</b>, but the freshness of its lyricism is
seductive and Puccini’s take on the story (it was probably more his than the
nine librettists he had) seems less cynical than the Frenchman’s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And one can go through the canon and find much that
works, sometimes against the odds. <b>The
Girl of the Golden West</b> has a ridiculous plot, hilarious words (“Amici fate
largo e salute Mister Ashby del’ agenzia Wells Fargo” is one, “Dimmi tuo nome!”
“Dick” “Per sempre, Dick!” is another. And of course wags have always wondered
about a hero called Dick, whose last name is --- Johnson!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And yet, something else is going on in the opera as
Puccini’s inventive and unexpected musical treatment suggests. Here music does
transcend the silliness of the story, for all three leading characters are
looking for a frequently mentioned “road to redemption”. Their circumstances
are loneliness, emotional emptiness, lives trapped in bitterness and guilt. From
the tender, halting “love duet” in act one, more a shy, indirect investigation
by tenor and soprano as to whether they really can understand one another beyond
feeling a sexual attraction, to the tenor’s screams of remorse when he has to
confess that he is a thief while hiding in her house in act two, to the desperate
sorrow of the minors as <i>The Girl</i> and
the tenor ride off hoping to find redemption through love – she has been the
only beauty, the only hope in their lives and she will vanish into the
mountains, in effect die in their lives. The final words are sung by the minors and
the opera doesn’t resolve musically, “mai piu” they sing, “never more”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">However silly the Wild West locale and the pidgin English and the unfortunate association <i>The
Girl’s</i> name, “Minnie” was to acquire, there is something profound there and
it’s in the music. Who of us hasn't looked for redemption at some point, in some
way, which of us is ever sure that we can find it, and who of us has never
known profound aloneness? (The eerie tritones that introduce the mountains at the
start of act three personalize desolation as much as anything I can think of in music.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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(Steber is <i>The Girl</i>, riding to save her love, <i>Dick</i> -- Del Monaco -- from being hanged. The Sheriff, <i>Rance</i> -- Guelfi -- tries to stop her speaking -- but she reminds the minors of all she's done for them, one by one they give in, free <i>Dick</i> and he and <i>The Girl </i>ride off -- one of the saddest "happy endings" ever! The conductor is the great<b> Mitropoulos</b>; live from Florence, 1954)<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Operas can be paradoxes, silly yet great. One can
find wonderful things in <b>La Rondine</b>,
shrugged off by many, but with a marvelous second act, and in <b>The Trittico</b>, particularly perhaps in
the endlessly inventive and genuinely funny <b>Gianni Schicchi</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But <b>Turandot</b>
is hopeless nonsense, two hideous characters unredeemed in any way (Puccini
lived for two years but could only come up with a folder of often illegible and
contradictory sketches for the final duet he knew had to make sense of the
whole sado-masochistic charade – he knew he couldn’t justify such monsters. His
musical gift was waning. There is much imitation of the then novel present.
Even that worthless (!) Sch</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">ön</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">berg shows up for a few seconds in act one when the
‘ghost voices” are heard, Puccini had journeyed to hear </span><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Pierrot Lunaire</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">
conducted by the composer in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Florence</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">.
There is a touch of the Emperor’s Court from Stravinsky’s <b>Le Rossignol. </b>But the
“Puccini” magic never materializes. Even the two tenor arias,
the second one, “Let no one sleep” “<i>Nessun dorma</i>” that our pal, Pavarotti,
turned into an anthem for everything from bowling contests to bowel movements
are derivative, they are school of Lehar, who would have written them better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">But everyone gets at least one clunker, and <b>Turandot</b> was Puccini’s – not a bad
record at all.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ve been understanding of Puccini; but
how is it that the great music of Sch</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">ön</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">berg and Boulez is still so easy to condemn
by the supposedly arts aware? Neither composer is new, neither is strange, there is beauty
to be found in their work and emotion, too. The haters never really listened to it, yet I
doubt they “got” <b>Tosca</b> the first
time through, or the tenth time. I wonder often if the impossibility of calling
a halt to these stupid battles about long dead issues means really that
“serious music” is actually dead. That those who have great need of a backward,
idiotic populace have won by segmenting populations into powerless cliques who
will simply die away. It can be worth it to fight but it’s frightening to see
how closed these minds are, how small their worlds are, how easily they accept
clichés, how happily they embrace their ignorance. This is our world: idiotic
comic book movies, endless sequels, “Reality TV" with its glorification of
stupidity, horrendous pop music, gun culture, a mainstream news media without substance or
honor, and a rapidly increasing population of the proudly uneducated. These
morons are part of a zombie culture. Yes, these are no win battles, but what is the worth of winning? Doesn't it seem that music has already lost?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-33213390692069080662013-09-08T13:34:00.001-07:002013-09-08T22:30:22.650-07:00Benjamin Britten: THE BITTER WITHY<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">That is the second tune from one of Britten’s last works, <b>Suite on English Folk Tunes</b>. Although the lyrics aren’t set, they are an old vernacular Christmas carol. The withy is the willow tree, which rots from within. This is the last stanza:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Then He says to His Mother: “Oh, the withy! Oh, the withy!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The bitter withy that causes me to smart, to smart,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Oh, the withy, it shall be the very first tree<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">That perishes at the heart!”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 14.1pt;">(Britten in his parents' garden)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“What is truth?” Pontius Pilate asked. The person being interrogated by Pilate was a poor Jew from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Palestine</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, who would have only spoken Aramaic. Pilate would have spoken Greek and of course, Latin. The accused, whose name was Yeshu (that is Joshua in Hebrew and Jesus in Greek), wouldn’t have understood, any more than Pilate would have understood him. And would the Prefect of Judea have even met a rough Jew accused of leading a dreary little rebellion? And was Pilate, a crude, cruel soldier at heart, have been given to “philosophical” questions? Not likely. It shows how we humans proceed. We make things up. We have to: we put ten words in a given sequence on a page – and that is not reality, it’s not even how reality happens. What is truth? There’s no such thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(at school)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Who was Benjamin Britten? Who knows? </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">He was born
</span><st1:date day="22" month="11" year="1913"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">November 22, 1913</span></st1:date><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, died </span><st1:date day="4" month="12" year="1976"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">December 4, 1976</span></st1:date><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Yes, a large number of people
met Ben in one way or another. (Presumably) a lot of people (relatively) heard
poor Yeshu preach or incite rebellion, or do a little of both. Maybe he had a
bag a magic tricks to get their attention, and since he was free lance,
anything that might entice a drachma or two from those who responded was a good
idea. But we don’t have much idea of who he was either. The writing about Yeshu
has him manifesting himself in various ways. Ben Britten, likewise, manifested
himself in various personas. Most people settled for one, perhaps knowing a
little about another. But he was famous and biographies </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">MUST</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> be written.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Humphrey Carpenter wrote the first big biography of Britten and talked to many witnesses who knew him in different ways. (<i>Benjamin Britten: A Biography, Faber and Faber, written in 1992</i>). </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Now that the centenary is underway there is a new big book by Paul Kildea, (<i>Benjamin Britten: A Life in the Twentieth Century, Penguin Global</i>, published this July.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Kildea is anti-Carpenter. Carpenter had many documents available to him and used them, Kildea has more documents made available more recently including a vast number of letters that Britten wrote (these have been published in separate, expensive volumes).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Carpenter has an “old fashioned style”; he is expansive and likes the anecdote, the short character sketch and repeating gossip. He knew of a certain Britten, but he speaks to others who knew someone different by that name: younger, say; as a conductor; as a sometime friend or collaborator; as a combination of atoms and elements they found detestable. Some of those people only knew a label: <b><u>queer</u></b>, and their story of Britten contained their feelings about queer people, hateful sinners, the lot; or fundamentally sad and lost; or trivial -- “That homosexual stuff was really silly,” says the late conductor, Sir Charles Mackerras in the documentary, <b>Britten’s Children (</b>based on the book by John Bridcut<b>)</b>. He got into serious trouble with Britten for making a joke about there always being “kids” about. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But some thought <b>heroic</b> a good word. Britten lived in what for all intents and purposes was a marriage with the tenor, Peter Pears, for thirty five years, more or less openly in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">England</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, where homosexual acts between consenting adults in private were criminal until 1967 and men so accused frequently went to jail. (But Britten hated the word gay, according to Pears in the sappy documentary produced by Tony Palmer called <b>A Time there was.) </b>Britten also disliked gay couples, queeny jokes, camp and effeminate behavior. One of the crazy “reviewers” at Amazon faults Kildea for not mentioning that Ben was bisexual. That goes to an opinion still large in the world that homosexuals are less than human and must be somehow not wholly and utterly “that way” -- we need look no further than a Mr. Putin of </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. There is no evidence whatever that Britten was ever sexually intimate with a woman. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In fact in his diary, as edited by John Evans,
Britten writes that he found the naked female body, “disgusting”. But perhaps a
later generation of queer would have recognized an internalized homophobia in
Ben; or perhaps Ben was stuck emotionally and sexually at the age of eleven?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Kildea has a more “modern” style, telegraphic. “Supporting characters” are dealt with in a sentence (even those who according to Carpenter were crucial to the composer for periods of time). He is light on hearsay and offers fewer details about the mechanics of how Britten managed to compose so much while in his earlier days, touring with Pears and running the English Opera Company and The Aldeburgh Festival (both founded by composer and tenor to promote Britten’s work).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">His main label for Britten is a man absolutely of the 20<sup>th</sup> century, of difficult times where the world continuously changed rapidly and radically and technology triumphed. His Britten started his career in the Depression, as the political situation in the world deteriorated. Right after he graduated from the Royal College of Music, a fantastically precocious but sheltered and provincial twenty year old, Britten entered the circle of the great poet, Wysten Auden. This was a left leaning, Bohemian group of people, many of them homosexuals such as Auden and his close friend and sometime collaborator, Christopher Isherwood, who also befriended Britten (judging from the diary, Britten set Auden's poems but much preferred Isherwood's company). Auden got Britten his first jobs -- writing the music for leftist documentaries (Carpenter says it was Britten’s private composition teacher, </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Frank</span></st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Bridge</span></st1:placename></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> who got him the first job), but insisted that the young composer read and think beyond music, understand politics and his own sexuality. As a result, Britten became two of the most unpopular things one could be at the time: a pacifist and a homosexual. (He had already told his older brother of his “inclinations” but it was the acceptance of Auden’s group and the examples there of devoted couples of both sexes that eventually brought Britten “out” – according to Carpenter. Kildea seems to think that it was Auden’s nagging and Isherwood's example that got Britten “experimenting” with males).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Auden and Isherwood later became among Britten’s more famous “corpses”. According to his early friend and librettist, Eric Crozier, Britten warned him that one day he would be a corpse, dead to the composer. Though Crozier was invaluable, Britten turned on him for no obvious reason as they completed <b>Billy Budd. </b>Kildea thinks Crozier exaggerated out of sour grapes, and Britten did stay loyal to a small group of people throughout his life, but the list of the discarded was long, reasons for their “demise” were often unclear, and Ben could be cruel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Kildea goes into a lot of detail about the discouraging musical life Britten faced (it may be the most interesting part of his book). </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">London</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> was a backwater musically with self promoting conductors such as Sir Thomas Beecham and “Flash” Sargent (Sir Malcolm), rough and ready orchestras, wildly underpaid, seriously under rehearsed, and all dedicated to the most conservative repertory, the classics given ramshackle, inaccurate performances. The “new works” that were performed were short, pandered to a dull, unsophisticated audience, often were in a “folk style” that Britten both hated and thought amateurish. There was no interest in the new music being written on the continent or in experiment; radio, though a source of modest income for musicians, was in its infancy in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">England</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">When he and Peter Pears, still just friends, fled to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, hoping for a land of opportunity they found much the same. It was in LA that Ben read <b>The Borough</b> by George Crabbe and with the encouragement of Pears (by then his lover) started thinking of it as an opera.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Britten and Pears)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">They returned to potential trouble as “conchies” in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">England</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. Both were able to call in influential allies and were let off with a slap on the wrist. Michael Tippett, the great composer, eight years Britten’s senior, went to jail where he met Britten and Pears by turning pages for one of the recitals they were “condemned” to give in prisons as part of their punishment. They became and more or less remained friends, although Tippett did call <b>Peter Grimes</b> “English verismo”, which he did not mean as high praise. When he was dying, Ben felt Sir Michael had over taken him, after years of obscurity and derision, becoming popular with the always desired “younger people” and with much of his music, including his operas, being recorded by Phillips. One wonders where Sir Michael (who lived until 1998) stands today. Many of the recordings are available, often in cheap reissues, and the music is as tremendous and eccentric as ever; but the huge vogue for his symphonies has ended, he never made the Metropolitan Opera… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Britten’s only serious teacher was </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Frank</span></st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Bridge</span></st1:placename></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, a full fledged professional composer with a powerful technique and a passionate interest in the “new” music. They met through Britten’s piano teacher when he was 13. Bridge was stunned by the amount of interesting music the boy had written and agreed to teach him, demanding the highest level of clarity and control. “I still feel I haven’t come up to his technical standards,” Britten averred in 1963. Both Carpenter and Kildea shrug him off. At one point it looked like Ben could travel to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Germany</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and work with Alban Berg, whose music he worshiped, though he knew it only from score. According to Carpenter, Bridge told Britten’s parents that Berg was a notorious homosexual and would seduce young Ben; according to Kildea nobody knew much about Berg but being English of that era they assumed the worst and the consensus reached was that Ben was too young to be on his own. (Berg, of course, was a rampaging heterosexual.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Ben’s composition teacher at RCM, John Ireland, who didn’t have private money or a generous patron, a typical professional, exhausted himself taking every engagement he could, no matter how soul destroying. In the wider culture, there was a glorification of the talented amateur, the gifted hobbyist, a feeling that there was something unseemly about those who identified themselves as professionals and expected to be respected, and worse, paid. Benjamin Britten, a middle class boy from an undistinguished family in the provinces faced a steep mountain to climb. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Stardom is another label. Britten died world famous and wealthy, as that most impossible thing in the 20th century, a composer of operas. By his last few years, seven of his full length operas, <b>Peter Grimes</b>, <b>Albert Herring</b>, <b>The Rape of Lucretia, Billy Budd</b>, <b>The Turn of the Screw</b>, <b>A Midsummer Night’s Dream</b>, <b>Death in Venice,</b> were being produced internationally and often. Almost all of Britten’s work had been recorded, composer conducting or playing the piano, and heavily promoted by a major firm, Decca (for many years known as </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">London</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">). That those recordings were so well made, widely distributed and taken so seriously was in itself a tribute to his success; most are still in print.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">His smaller operas, The Church Parables, starting with </span><st1:place><st1:placename><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Curlew</span></b></st1:placename><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></b><st1:placetype><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">River</span></b></st1:placetype></st1:place><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">,</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> were also done widely. His operas for children – there were many – showed up in surprising places. One might see the amusing <b>Noye’s Flood</b> in suburban </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New Jersey</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, or encounter a small company shaking a fist at <b>Let’s Make an Opera/The Little Sweep</b> in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Berkeley</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, with sophisticated people coming over from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">San Francisco</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And all this has continued. Even his opera for television, not liked by many people when new, <b>Owen Wingrave,</b> is being mounted in theaters, and it’s a rare opera workshop in conservatory or University that hasn’t done several of the smaller works. One of Britten’s big bombs, the coronation opera for Elizabeth II, <b>Gloriana</b>, has been rehabilitated, recorded and released on DVD, seen not as a limp biscuit but as a throw back to the grand operas of yore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But questions have been raised (from the beginning) about Britten – not about his virtuosity -- but about his career path. Carpenter tends to make Sir Peter Pears the villain: all of Britten’s operas were chosen because they had an important (usually starring) role for this tenor with an odd voice and a distinctive style (according to Carpenter, one of Britten’s friends in his childhood, described Pears as sounding just like Britten’s worshipful mother, and Britten’s sister, Beth, concurred!). Most of his great song cycles were written for Pears. Did Pears have some unholy hold on Britten? Before Pears, young Britten composed in record time a remarkable work for small orchestra called <b>Variations on a Theme of Frank Bridge</b>. Early in his relationship with Pears, Britten wrote a Berg besotted but tremendously effective orchestral piece called <b>Sinfonia da Requiem</b>. A little later, he created the irresistible <b>The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra. </b>But thereafter, most of his non-operatic works were for tenor alone or with additional voices (the <b>Spring Symphony</b> not only has a trio of soloists and big chorus, but boys’ chorus). <br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Later, for Mstislav Rostropovich, the great Russian cellist (who Kildea claims became a Pears substitute, not sexually – though he doesn’t believe there was much of a sexual connection between Pears and Britten after the mid-fifties – but as muse and chief believer) there was a <b>Cello Symphony</b> (asked about it in an interview near its world premiere, Pears sniffed, “I haven’t heard it”), and there were piano and violin concerti, much revised, and quite a lot of chamber music, especially after his devastating operation to replace a defective valve in his heart. But always there were operas, written with an odd tenor voice in mind. Of course there was the highly promoted <b>War Requiem</b> for tenor, baritone, massive orchestra, chamber orchestra, chorus – and boys – but didn’t Britten thereby become a sort of ceremonial composer, the kind of composer he affected to despise, such as Elgar? (This became one of the best selling classical recordings of its time.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Carpenter and others blame Pears for manipulating Britten into so much vocal work and into keeping his style for large theater works accessible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Kildea is less interested in this aspect of their relationship and more in Pears as a manipulative, sometimes hurtful “power behind the throne”, self seeking with a strong control on their ventures into production. The late Robert Tear, a tenor younger than Pears, who was taken into the circle for a time, describes in his book, <b>Tear Here,</b> the atmosphere around Britten as a “royal court”. Pears was chief intriguer and Lord High Executioner. Nothing happened without Britten’s consent, but that was informed by Pears relaying everything from his own perspective (jealous of his position and worried about aging, he made war on Tear but not before the latter was witness to some ugly scenes – Tear’s is another view of Britten, very different in feel from either biographer, and since he was an employee who needed the jobs, arguably more “authentic”.) However, Tear was axed by the enraged composer. His camping up the Male Chorus in <b>The Rape of Lucretia (</b>a solo part) to relieve tension backstage was caught by Britten and that was that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Kildea documents Pears’ sexual promiscuity, quite memorably describing the “cruising” scene in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">London</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> during World War Two. Despite the laws, and the undercover police, a city jammed with horny young men became a kind of paradise for the easily aroused, in which group Kildea includes Pears. Whatever their pre or post war notions of homosexuality, these young fellows found that “puffs” were easy, safe, good for dinner and a tip, and after all, pleasure is pleasure. As Pears became famous in his own right he booked incessant tours, leaving Britten alone by the sea. They fought a lot, sometimes bitterly, but it was Britten who always gave in. “I know that Peter is sometimes unfaithful,” Kildea quotes one of his still living sources about a confidence of Ben’s, “but as long as I don’t know the particulars I overlook it” Kildea notes that Pears booked an American tour in the last month of the composer’s life, fully aware that he could die at any time. “He died in my arms,” Pears says sweetly in <b>A Time there Was. </b>Barely, might be Kildea’s response. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Kildea claims that during Britten’s operation to replace a heart valve the surgeon discovered that he was suffering from tertiary syphilis. This made news. Pears would have infected Britten. Kildea, in one sentence, mentions a doctor who is skeptical; suggesting that with all of the blood tests Britten would have had in his illnesses, a serious venereal disease would have been detected. Kildea isn’t convinced and yet – is this another example of fictionalizing a life? (Articles challenging this diagnosis have been written).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For a kinder view of Pears (though it’s not a whitewash)
one can read </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Christopher
Headington's biography (he also wrote a mild biography of Britten). Nor do all the letters support an unequivocal reading
of Pears as a bad influence. Thus we see story telling in place, for every fairy
tale needs an evil queen.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Both Carpenter and Kildea offer readable analyses of the music, though neither is as compendious as Peter Evans in <b>The Music of Benjamin Britten</b> (University of Minnesota Press). Carpenter seems to me to be stronger on the operas, more skeptical about the later ones. Britten suffered the usual fate of someone who has an enormous early triumph (he was 31 when <b>Peter Grimes</b>, produced against heavy odds, took </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">London</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> by storm, having an almost incredible success), subsequent works were found wanting in some way. It’s true that <b>Peter Grimes</b> has a sweeping intensity, a creative abandon that carries its own electricity. It doesn’t much matter – as Kildea avers -- that the story doesn’t make complete sense, that aside from Peter Grimes, the characters are stereotypes --- the opera, or perhaps it is mostly Britten’s music -- grabs a listener by the throat and won’t let go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Britten certainly comes close to that power in <b>Billy Budd</b>, more so in its revision than in its original version, and surely he was allowed a delicious comic romp, <b>Albert Herring</b>. But it wasn’t until <b>The Turn of the Screw</b>, nine years after <b>Peter Grimes</b> and much smaller, using a different musical vocabulary and style, that the same intensity is reached, and its libretto is better. But after <b>Screw</b>, the operas are sometimes unconvincing, though they are always beautifully made. It’s only with <b>Death in Venice,</b> written against a tough deadline (Britten’s operation was looming), that he again approaches the emotional power of <b>Peter Grimes</b>, though with some miscalculations he would have corrected had he had the strength after the operation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Kildea is something of a cheerleader, even raving about that piece of well made twaddle, <b>Owen Wingrave</b>. But he is very strong on what he has conducted, the many works for choir, the orchestral pieces – it’s good to read high praise for the once dismissed <b>The Cello Symphony</b>, a work I adore -- but Kildea does not make the connection of certain themes and harmonic gestures there with <b>Death in Venice</b>. He is also a compelling advocate for the often overlooked chamber music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Then there is Britten’s pederasty. Both biographers acknowledge it, though typically, Carpenter goes into far more detail about each of the boys Britten “fell in love” with, including their parents’ reactions and the degree of gossip each involvement generated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Kildea spends only a short time and focuses mostly on David Hemmings (who was to become a movie star as an adult, famous for <b>Blow Up</b> by Antonioni), the creator of the role of Miles in <b>The Turn of the Screw</b>. Hemmings, 10 when he met the composer, gave reportedly an astonishing performance (he is wonderful on the stunning recording). He plays the haunted boy – haunted either by a real ghost, the dead pervert Quint, or the insane governess, who might be making the whole thing up. Hemmings lived with Britten by the sea in </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Aldeburgh</span> <span style="font-size: 14pt;">where the entire company of <b>Turn of the Screw</b> learned and interpreted the opera as Britten completed it. Everyone detested Hemmings. He was ten going on forty; nasty, manipulative and cruel. But Britten’s adoration was so intense it shocked the company, even those used to his crushes. They saw “their Hemmings”, a sly brat; transform into “Ben’s David” an angel of sweetness and eternal vulnerability, with just a light brush of sexual allure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Though there’s no evidence that Britten behaved inappropriately with any of “his boys” and Hemmings went through the rest of his life denying that anything improper had happened even when he and Ben shared a bed. There were those who didn’t believe him. Pears was one, it seems. “I frightened Peter,” Hemmings says, somewhat mysteriously in <b>Britten’s Children. </b>According to Kildea, Hemmings was the first person to come between them, creating a rift only resolved gradually and with difficulty. Whether or not Pears was certain that Britten had “made free” with Hemmings, as Quint (the part Pears created) is said to have “made free” with young Miles in an early draft of the libretto, he had suddenly seen the danger of Britten’s attachments. A manipulative con artist like Hemmings could easily (perhaps) have taken advantage of Ben’s susceptibilities, regardless of the composer’s iron self discipline. “Eros is in the air,” says Aschenbach, in <b>Death in Venice</b>, as this prim, heterosexual intellectual, unable to curb his obsession with the boy Tadzio, understands that the erotic always and everywhere will not be denied or controlled. A scandal would have destroyed Britten and Pears with him, wiped out all they had achieved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">No such scandal ever happened. In one version of the fiction that was Benjamin Britten (for who will ever know for certain save the relative few involved?) he was completely innocent of anything but an intense response to certain boys that stopped well short of the erotic. In another version of that fiction, perhaps, now and then, Ben “made free” with a willing lad or two, and no one the wiser. In dealing with anyone’s life, one can never know for certain – anything -- really. We have evidence of Ben’s enormous talent and will to create, right up to his death, when he could barely lift his arms. Beyond that…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Of the two biographies Kildea’s is the tougher minded and more rigorously sourced – that syphilis claim aside. His precise reckoning of Britten’s earnings year to year is fascinating and so is his relating Britten’s public persona to the politics of his time, both of England and of the British musical establishment where Britten was the subject of quiet loathing and various plots, most ineffective (the worst was the Arts Council, the then new arts subsidy board, killing the recording of the world premiere of Peter Grimes. On the committee then was another famous composer, Sir William Walton. Though they cordially despised one another’s work, he and Ben remained friends superficially. But Walton got in quite a blow). Kildea’s tracing of the world tour Britten and Pears took, and the tremendous impact the music of </span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Bali</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> made on the composer (it shows up in many of his later works) and the force of the Noh dramas they saw in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Japan</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> is expert.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But Carpenter’s book is like a novel by Dickens. Britten’s life unfolds with enormous energy, an unpredictable version of “Great Expectations”, starting with a very provincial boy with accent to match, his obsessed mother, unshakably convinced she had given birth to at least the equal of J. S. Bach. There are colorful and crazy characters, coincidences and contrivances, tremendous successes and occasional disasters, villains and angels (Ben was both depending on the situation), the blessings of the queen, her mother, even her reportedly philistine consort, with dark detours but true love, however hedged, triumphing eventually. All met with the intonations and impeccable rounded vowels of the aristocracy that Ben adopted with fame. I’ve enjoyed re-reading it. Of course it’s no truer to Britten than Kildea’s tidier and colder work. The public force of the person, when he chose, the private grief and strangeness, the remarkable drive to create against even death itself – none of those things can be caught in prose, or in deeds and contracts, or in pictures and poses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Thirty eight years on from his death, Britten is still celebrated, early work is still uncovered, performed and recorded, failures are reconsidered. No other English composer of the 20<sup>th</sup> century has fared so well (except, ironically, Ralph Vaughan Williams, whose work Britten detested, and who he didn’t like personally, despite or perhaps because “Rafe” admitted Britten to the RCM when he was 16, awarded him a scholarship and at school and importantly, later, did him kindnesses and favors.). And one might argue that RVW, born before <b>Tristan and Isolde</b> was finished, always, perforce, kept one large foot in Victorian England.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">We can’t “know” Ben, but he could reveal something. His music isn’t the whole story and clears up no mysteries. But in his final opera, </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Death in Venice, </b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">there is not the sarcastic irony of Mann, nor is there the titillation to be had in the beautiful Visconti movie, there is a devastating longing and an annihilating loneliness. Aschenbach dies of cholera, painted and roughed, his hair dyed, watching his adored Tadzio walk out into the endless sea. It’s redemption of sorts, but an icy one. Death’s music is hard, chilly, high and inhuman. Aschenbach is vouchsafed a second of serenity in the city known as </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">La Serenissima</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, but has never lived, never been loved, never expressed his true self. Admired and wealthy, he is at the moment of his death the lonely fraud who gives the lie to all that fame. “Just live!” is the command to all creatures at first awareness on this planet; Aschenbach who has written and analyzed and created, has not lived, but very late he has learned how glorious life is, and how fleeting. It’s not Mann; it is Britten. You may weep at poor Mimi’s death, or at Madame Butterfly’s seppuku but I think this is the saddest finale I know of in opera. And maybe that is the closest we can come to the “real” Ben Britten.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-42433578542901553032013-08-20T22:38:00.000-07:002013-08-20T22:38:57.388-07:00HENRY HOLLAND HELP, ANNA’S DOING VERDI<div class="MsoNormal">
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</span></b> <span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b>(</b>Henry Holland)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There is a huge international cabal to WILL Anna Netrebko a legend. I’ve seen it on social media. I have seen the whores do what they are bid; and as for the ‘Net flacks!!!!! We will read, “how gorgeous she is.” Yup. Why not just bring back silent films, or have her lip sync while a professional does the singing? (They did that often enough in the “old days”. Sofia Loren <b><i>IS</i></b> Aida while Renata Tebaldi sings on the sound track.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It doesn’t matter. On a gay gossip board a thread about Maria Callas just this week brought out enormous ignorance. Once, many people of culture (certainly gay men) would at least have known that her name isn’t spelt <i>Callous</i> and they would have read a few reports about her gifts or problems. Now, it’s mostly morons and the one nasty flamer who is both defensive and a gross ignoramus named Henry Holland, hiding behind anonymity but recognizable. Well, he did have a web site up about sucking used athletic equipment so I assume drying all those sweaty socks in your mouth is an achievement. He is one of the star creeps at Parterre Box. You should look him up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">DG is obviously counting on forcing <b><i>Netrebko Sings Verdi</i></b> to become a great seller. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-size: 14pt;">To have such a grandiose presentation, the actual performances are trivial things. A problem with the </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>same old same old</i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> in anything is that so many people have recorded this material, even the once rarely encountered Lady Macbeth arias, that it’s easy to find better, in great sound, at a discount! There is a difference between someone who is not </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">that </b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">bad and what true stars were once expected to deliver.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Netrebko will actually sing Lady Macbeth. She has also done the lighter <i><b>Giovanna d</b><b>’arco.</b></i> In the aria she has some trouble tuning the unaccompanied material that starts the scene but it’s an appropriate sound. She doesn’t quite get the marking “semplice” (simply) when the aria starts, and her phrasing is wooden; the triplets on “semplice” and “sua vesta” are not precise or in time. It doesn’t sound as though she understands why they are there. She also has a habit of sliding upwards, why does she scoop upwards the fifth from E flat to A flat that ends the word “giovanna”? There is a larger point here. That fifth punctuates an implied endless phrase, but Netrebko doesn’t sound as though she feels the need to sculpt the entire line and is phrasing with that as the point. There are no niceties in the reading. And, while it’s a decent performance in this dreary context, there is no sense of Giovanna’s circumstances or personality.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Arrigo ah parli a un cor</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> from <b><i>I Vespri Siciliani</i></b> is taken rather quickly and the tenderness of accent even a distressed Callas (in her “Callas Rarities” release) brought to it is totally absent. This was a strong part of the Scotto, Cerquetti and </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Caballė</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">live performances (I saw first and third, second is thrilling on a pirate conducted by Mario Rossi). There is again a lack of firmness and point in the line. Netrebko does not spin out the span of B to G to F sharp on “io t’amo” in the first verse, “io muoio” in the second, a magical part of every good performance I’ve heard including Maralin </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Niska and Christina Deutekom neither of whom made history in the role but both of whom were better than this. Nor does she sing the repeat of each of those phrases as an echo, an obvious but lovely touch that </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">everyone</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> does. Netrebko is not very precise in differentiating pitches that are close; the G moving down to the F sharp is blurred. She doesn’t alter dynamics much either; the ability to convey sorrowing inwardness, so striking in Scotto or Callas or Cerquetti didn’t occur to her or she can’t do it. The slow descending chromatic scales toward the end are not well tuned. She sings the written cadenza up to the high C, a good note, but that version takes the line lower in her voice than she can sound. It’s competent. And that is greatness, I guess. (Except that there are many potentially greater singers without these problems, I’d nominate Christine Goerke, Sondra Radvanovsky and, given a bit of luck, Angela Meade).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">As a performance from a great star in her prime, the <i>Bolero</i> (slow!) from <b>Vespri</b> is a clumsy joke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">No Ruiz in Trovatore act four, means she must herself summon the desolate, hopeless scene in “</span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Timor</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> di me?” She doesn’t. The recitative is lifeless; she can’t infuse the words with urgency or color. She vocalizes the high B flat rather than singing the whole word “[pie] TOSA” then fails to shape the descending line, doing nothing with the final word “sospiri” (sighs). The aria is marked adagio but is rather fast, the quickish tempo lets her blur the trills, they’re there, not wonderful. She changes some words in the aria but more importantly doesn’t feel anything – either the rhythm, or the melodic shape or the situation. She sounds like a graduate student with some ability taking a test. The long cadenza is notable for extra breaths; some vague tuning and a lack of the sense that right here in these notes are Leonora’s thoughts of love soaring softly up to Manrico. The entire aria wonderfully dramatizes its poetic conceit and Netrebko gives no indication of understanding that (or of being able to do it).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Verdi makes the <b><i>Miserere</i></b> inevitable that way; the answer to Leonora’s sounds of love in the night is a chorus of death. The monks, offstage, sing <i>a cappella</i> with just a bell forlornly playing an E flat, but when Leonora enters the entire orchestra shudders, these are the wings of death. More than anything Leonora must mirror the rhythm, giving her words a hard or frightened point – Netrebko has no real rhythm, in fact she’s a bit behind. She artificially darkens her vocal color but that actually obscures the words. Moreover, she’s isn’t precisely in tune, she’s not able to sound clearly the crucial phrase E flat F flat G flat down to D flat on <i>contende ambascia</i>. And the cry, <i>sento mancarmi</i>, which others have infused with terror, is entirely bland. The great phrases where she cries, “how could I forget you?” in response to the tenor, “<i>di te, di te scordarvi</i>” are not inflected with anguish, they are dead. Poor Rolando Villazon in a far off echo chamber bleats Manrico.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She shakes a fist a “<i><b>tu vedrai</b></i>” but lacks rhythmic point and in fact, is anonymous – <i>allegro agitato</i> is the marking, reflected neither in the orchestra nor in her attack. Verdi marks dynamics, a crescendo on the fourth, C to F (<i>o con [te]</i>), and then again on <i>nella [tomba]</i> and then places accents on strong beats leading to a big crescendo for the cadenza, where she sounds like a babushka in thick boots stomping out the cold. Comical. There’s only one verse. Just as well. Lack of a really thrusting attack in <b><i>Tu vedrai</i></b> is a problem in conveying Leonora’s sudden resolve, which must contrast with her dream sorrow in <b><i>D’amor sul ali errante</i></b>, and her terror in the<i> <b>Miserere. </b></i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In exposed vocal material of this kind the singer’s ability to use cues from the score, from the composer’s own timing of effects and sense of form is crucial. And it’s interesting that </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Caballė</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, not always inspired and apt to drop consonants and change vowels, in two live performances (from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Florence</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> and </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Dallas</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">) makes so much more of this scene. That’s a glorious sound but the timbre is by no means all. Within her means, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Caballė</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> (who doesn’t sing “</span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">tu vedrai</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">”), makes most of the expressive points strongly – without the chance of retakes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What is there to say about the <b>Macbeth</b> arias, as recorded here? I saw in at least two European on line sites about the bit of Macbeth’s letter to his wife, which are <i>written</i> to be spoken: “Oh!!!! She speaks the opening lines!!!! Amazing!!!” You read them or you skip them. And, dear reader, if you or I whispered them into a mike with a Russian accent we’d sound spooky too, except I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t run out of breath before the short lines were finished. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Ambizioso spirto tu sei Macbetto” lies over an octave but her attack is rough on the E that starts it, the color of tone changes (for no reason) on the E below and it sounds like she is going to break on the D sharp F sharp E on the word “malvaggio”. Even on a recording she needs to take a gulping breath to manage the big run up to the high C, though none is indicated and it breaks the line. The marking of the aria is “<i>grandioso</i>”. Clearly, Lady Macbeth is to make something striding of the line, to seize it forcefully. Netrebko can’t, she’s working just to get through. The first trill is a blur, she omits subsequent trills and doesn’t feel the rhythm when she cries “io ti daró valore” – (“I’ll give you the courage!”) -- the point of the aria is missed. She can’t make the slow crescendo that is marked to start with “accetta” and to grow to a very loud B flat followed immediately by a drop to pian pianissimo (ppp) – what she does is sloppy and irrelevant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">One is always struck by how much Verdi makes of melodic inflection. In just these few lines all this character’s steely cunning is made to <b><i>sound </i></b>by the simplest means. But Netrebko is hit or miss – in all three arias. She shows neither special mastery of the vocal line nor any great imagination. If one turns to another Russian, Galina Vishnevskaya</span><em><b><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal;"> </span></b></em><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">in 1976, singing the role far past her vocal best and working hard to manage, she still understands how to make the rhythms work, how this music must be seized and colored. There, extra breaths and some unpleasant sounds are forgivable because the character is so vividly understood. I end this post with Vishnevskaya in this aria, not because it’s a great performance vocally, because it shows what sheer understanding and an imagination that meets the composer’s intention can do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In the other <b>Macbeth</b> arias some phrases are easier for Netrebko than others, but she really isn’t able to manage a compelling complete performance of any, and again, for a <b><i>great </i></b>singer in her <b><i>prime</i></b> the small saves and lazy compromises are a lot to accept. Neither her timbre nor her manner is arresting. She only does one verse (thankfully) of “<i>Or tutti, sorgete</i>!” and doesn’t get a doctor or serving woman to help set the Sleepwalking Scene. She certainly doesn’t set the scene by herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>La luce langue</b></span></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><b> </b>is about as dead a reading of the aria as I’ve ever heard. Leonie Rysanek couldn’t pitch it but was electrifying live and is rather exciting on the RCA record, Olivia Stapp was not thought a great diva but one wonders, after this. It would take nine Netrebkos to make one Rita Hunter, who being English, one would expect to be awkward in Italian style, but one Rita Hunter makes the impact of about forty Anna Netrebkos and is infinitely more accomplished in florid music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And now, one even wonders about Netrebko’s usefulness in this rep. At Covent Garden Liudmyla Monastyrska buried her, given what she does here (that telecast is very easy to find). True, she wasn’t subtle or Italian but that was one wallop through these arias. In comparison to all these ladies, Netrebko sounds like an amateur, and the spectacular Christine Goerke, who in different killer parts, has demonstrated all the skills <i>La Lady</i> needs is looking at the role. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Is it possible that Netrebko, 42, and now rather thick set, missed her moment? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">That when she should have been doing Tosca and Manon Lescaut, Desdemona, </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Trovatore</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Leonora, say ten years ago, she was taking the easy way out – being a beauty with a good voice? Well, that made her rich and a darling of the Manuella Hoelterhoff school of music criticism: “she’s thin, she’s hot, she’s </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">GREAT</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">!!!” It made her neither an artist nor a virtuoso and these arias (the album extends to an improbably bland “<i><b>Tu che le vanità</b></i>”) expose someone who will need all the hype, all the empty queen worship, all the ignorance she can get to seem important in a decade. Henry Holland, calling Henry Holland!!! But then she has the great whorehouse DG behind her. Who can fail?</span></span><br />
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-19554453921072412032013-08-14T15:06:00.000-07:002013-08-14T15:06:22.123-07:00DISPUTING PUTIN<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-c5foaPKCaOv4T2R4bCdMh7LzsoiBgjdBSB67sxg7-F-Ig4BMLt_BRb6ZkM5TKnnscbQFBEWBXIc891ILGIXaa8-0jpuqHxVZkGjvA-JX8c1fc8t-mc161haqkqhhsWMavwzeb5_rS17Q/s1600/688c2949490549e59ca5f056bd28436b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-c5foaPKCaOv4T2R4bCdMh7LzsoiBgjdBSB67sxg7-F-Ig4BMLt_BRb6ZkM5TKnnscbQFBEWBXIc891ILGIXaa8-0jpuqHxVZkGjvA-JX8c1fc8t-mc161haqkqhhsWMavwzeb5_rS17Q/s1600/688c2949490549e59ca5f056bd28436b.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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(picture AP)<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I wrote something on Opera-L
and surprisingly the three people on Mrs. John Claggart’s face book page urged
her to republish it here. I dedicate this to Leslie Barcza. He has a blog
(don’t we all, dears?) and it’s worth visiting: <a href="http://barczablog.com/">http://barczablog.com/</a>
. He suggested I republish something I called portentously enough <b>The Trial of Elizabeth Schwarzkopf</b>. So
I thought, before the season starts and one gets distracted, perhaps one should
give way to one’s pretension.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It’s all brought about by the
awful situation for LBGT people in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. Putin, dictator there, is looking to exterminate us
deviants and inverts. This is an issue taken up on an Opera list <b>ONLY</b> because the Metropolitan Opera,
probably the most boring and useless pile of crap among big opera companies, is
opening its season with an opera by a homosexual composer named <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Pyotr Ilyich
Tchaikovsky,</span> <b><i>Eugene Onegin</i></b>. I suppose he would have been done away with and
his opera banned if he had lived long enough to write it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But the Met is offering a
gala to start the season with two Putin collaborators, Anna Netrebko, <b><i>soprano
opportunistisco d’agilità nel letto</i></b>, and Valery Gergiev, the lousy
conductor. Both of these people joined with Putin in 2012 to extol his virtues essential
for Mother Russia, and both owe their careers to enormous hype. Anna has made
an album of <b><i>Verdi arias</i></b>, which my twin will get to very soon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Gergiev could have gotten
nowhere without the amazing support of the government, and he is looking to
shore that up by acting the samovar from which Putin can sip. Gergiev got enormous
hype (we can’t blame Putin for that since it goes back a ways to the fogs of
the 1990s) but he hasn’t got enormous talent. He does have qualities. The Met
orchestra drew up a petition about his body odor. That didn’t happen to
Toscanini or Mahler when they led the Met. Maybe Gergiev has one upped two
legends? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A good summery of Putin’s
position, including the promise to jail gay and lesbian tourists is here:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://articles.washingtonpost.com/2013-08-08/opinions/41199662_1_gays-lesbians-sochi">http://articles.washingtonpost.com/2013-08-08/opinions/41199662_1_gays-lesbians-sochi</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Here is another summary</span>.</div>
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<a href="http://bostonherald.com/news_opinion/international/europe/2013/08/qa_on_anti_gay_legislation_in_russia" target="_blank"><span style="background: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">http://bostonherald.com/news_opinion/international/europe/2013/08/qa_on_anti_gay_legislation_in_russia</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The Met made a wimpy
statement about the issue. </span><a href="http://www.artsjournal.com/slippeddisc/2013/08/metropolitan-opera-responds-to-anti-putin-protest.html">http://www.artsjournal.com/slippeddisc/2013/08/metropolitan-opera-responds-to-anti-putin-protest.html</a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The kidnapping, torture and
killing of an “effeminate” boy by Russian hoodlums is recounted here:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.queerty.com/gay-russian-teen-reportedly-dies-after-being-kidnapped-tortured-by-neo-nazis-20130806/">http://www.queerty.com/gay-russian-teen-reportedly-dies-after-being-kidnapped-tortured-by-neo-nazis-20130806/</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The English Intellectual,
Stephen Fry, has compared Putin to Hitler, and urged the moving of something
else coming up of far greater moment than opera, The Olympics. His pleading
with The British government is here:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><a href="http://www.thejournal.ie/stephen-fry-olympics-1026273-Aug2013/">http://www.thejournal.ie/stephen-fry-olympics-1026273-Aug2013/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A high official in the
Russian government has demanded that the “hearts of gay people be burned”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/12/dmitri-kusilev-degrades-lgbt-tv_n_3743414.html">http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/12/dmitri-kusilev-degrades-lgbt-tv_n_3743414.html</a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Now, suddenly, we have the specter
of the Olympics held in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Berlin</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">
in 1936 in front of Hitler, glorifying him, and his “graciously” allowing the
black, Jesse Owens, to compete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> (<b>Alan
Goldhammer</b> who honored the widder and her twin by joining up here, wrote “<i>the </i></span><st1:country-region><st1:place><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">US</span></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> Track and
Field team did not permit two Jewish sprinters to run on the relay team with
Jesse Owens because of the Nazi policies and fear of offending the Fürher. Marty
Glickman and Sam Stoller were the sprinters in question”.</span></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Netrebko</span> </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">and Gergiev<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>were among the 499 trustees of the
Russian presidential candidate, the Prime Minister, Vladimir Putin In 2012. </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The great Latvian violinist
Gidon Kramer will join one of the greatest pianists in the world, Martha
Argerich, and Daniel Barenboim in a concert condemning Putin’s shocking record
on human rights, which has extended to assassination. Kremer singled Netrebko
and Gergiev out for their pro Putin activism: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_1565246739"><br /></a></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><a href="http://www.latinospost.com/articles/25329/20130809/gidon-kremer-attacks-russian-soprano-anna-netrebko-conductor-valery-gergiev.htm">http://www.latinospost.com/articles/25329/20130809/gidon-kremer-attacks-russian-soprano-anna-netrebko-conductor-valery-gergiev.htm</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Gergiev made an ad for Putin. The You Tube version
and a translation can be found here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><a href="http://www.wqxr.org/#!/blogs/wqxr-blog/2012/mar/02/valery-gergiev-appears-putin-campaign-commercial/">http://www.wqxr.org/#!/blogs/wqxr-blog/2012/mar/02/valery-gergiev-appears-putin-campaign-commercial/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Netrebko (who has double
citizenship through marriage, she also holds an Austrian passport) and Gergiev,
remarkable for their greed, are supporting a kind of Hitler and that brings up
the famous Nazi opera singers and conductors who joined the party, or if they
didn’t, happily gave the salute and cooperated in a national frenzy to
annihilate Jews, Roma and yes, homosexuals. Only one of these singing monsters
went to jail. The Russians, who raped their way across </span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Eastern Germany</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> while “liberating” it, put the famous tenor, Helge
Roswaenge in a POW camp for a spell, until his friends could bribe the Swiss to
give him refuge (Roswaenge’s home country, </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Denmark</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, refused.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Many of the famous singers
under Hitler were older by the time the war ended; those who could, after their
“denazification”, usually a year or two of enforced inactivity, continued
careers in Germany and Austria, and some visited South America, but were
heavily circumscribed about where they could sing. Conductors were different. One
of the most gifted judging from records and broadcasts, Oswald Kabasta,
committed suicide when the Nazi defeat was absolutely certain. Nazis such as
Karajan and sympathizers such as Karl Böhm went on to be worshipped. Clemens
Krauss died in 1954 but he and his mistress Viorica Ursuleac, went on despite
their many dinners with Hitler (however they are known to have helped some
Jews, and Krauss, while running the Munich Opera, hired a few people who didn’t
have work papers). Karajan and Böhm were not known to have helped anybody. Karajan
got into trouble with the Nazis for mysterious reasons and had to flee to a
sweet male poet’s castle in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> when allies inside the party whispered to him that “they”
were planning to send him to the Russian front.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There were many injustices of
course. The </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">US</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and the </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">USSR</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> both recruited (thus saved) SS men and Gestapo
officials to be spies, political prison guards and torturers. They also hired
scientists such as Werner von Braun who ran a concentration camp. Many monsters
just faded back into civilian life. Wieland Wagner also helped run a
concentration camp and was Hitler’s favorite of the Wagner family; he was
intrustred with “rescuing” The Bayreuth Festival from it strong Nazi
associations. The Americans were the easiest to fool, the British tended to be
easy going; only the Russians were tough with punishments, unless they thought
someone would be useful. But younger people, those in their early thirties at
war’s end, could go on to make substantial careers and even become stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Was Dame (yes the English <i>damed</i> her) Elizabeth Schwarzkopf DBE the
most flagrant example of someone who got away with murder, figurative if not
actual (I think all bets are off, but fairness compels me to admit she was
never convicted of killing anyone – directly)? Recent information about Karajan
has incriminated him more than what many believed, but it’s probably fair to
say that his relationship to the regime was complicated and twisted. That was
not true of Schwarzkopf.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In any case this is what my
twin, Albert, wrote about her, Netrebko and Gergiev on Opera-L:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<h1 style="margin-bottom: 6.75pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: .75pt; margin-top: 9.0pt;">
<span class="hp"><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;">The Trial of Elizabeth Schwarzkopf:</span></u></span><span class="j-j5-ji"><u><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; mso-font-kerning: 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We are unable to have one
here. Therefore it is easy to make statements in either direction that are at
best questionable and at worst untrue. But I am astounded by what I read [from
FANS]. The two books by Michael Kater are easily available. They are thoroughly
documented, and notably evenhanded (he is very careful to distinguish nasty
gossip and envious defamation from facts, even about known "villains"
as established by his documents).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There are a number of other
carefully researched and well documented books about the period and its major
players. One can read letters written at the time by many of these people,
including Hans Pfitzner who hated Jews, but hated Nazis more, and identified
Schwarzkopf as a hateful Nazi. She did indeed join the party. That was not
necessary even to ensure a career (though it helped someone who wasn't making
quick headway by the normal avenues). It cost a great deal of money, and in
fact, by the mid thirties it got harder to do, as the Nazi party was more
interested in zealots than opportunists. It also cost a small fortune. That is
something she did not have. No one knows how she got the money but it wasn't
easy -- and she did get it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">SHE WAS A MEMBER OF THE
GESTAPO. She was the information officer at the Berlin State Opera, charged
with reporting confidentially on the activities of ALL of her colleagues. THIS
IS A FACT. I have known people who thought she was a silly slut who then became
quite frightened of her. Two thousand pages of her record with the Gestapo were
released right before she died. The papers have not circulated widely and I
wonder why. Did she mainly stick with tattling about trivial infractions and
thus avoid being taken seriously by her superiors (some of those men were far
more interested in other aspects of her body -- of work -- than her spying)? Or
did she do real damage to those she disliked?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Let
me be clear again. We may eventually know all that can be known and find her
better or worse than various people think. We are talking about someone who
sold herself to the highest bidders in an organization of horrific evil. And
what is this I read? That she never said anything about her Nazi past and that <i>exonerates</i> her? Is that person so
utterly an idiot that they think she WOULD? When, helped by the British Nazi
sympathizer, Walter Legge, she began to make an international career (many
thought he was Jewish, which suited their plan, but he denied it, to me
personally on one occasion. He began as one of her lovers, became her “master”
as she called him, then her husband) do you think she was going to EXTOL NAZISM
AND CONDEMN JEWS? No one EVER thought she was stupid, or lacking in a quick,
shrewd, smart opportunism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We are not talking about
everyone who stayed in Nazi Germany and did what they had to in order to
achieve some security in their careers. Yes, they all had to make up to the
Nazis. As Kater finds in his documents, thus did Hotter and Knappertsbusch, two
people thought to be "anti-Nazi" (but both, especially Hotter, fawned
on Hitler). Neither was popular with the Nazi toughs in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Munich</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and it appears unlikely that either had Nazi ideals.
Neither joined the party.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We know that after a burst of
enthusiasm Richard Strauss went into internal exile as far as he could,
negotiating a tight rope walk between continuing to collect royalties and
conducting (he needed both to survive) and most important to him, saving his
Jewish daughter in law (who had relatives who died in the camps) and his two
adored grandsons who were counted as Jews. It is said that a Nazi lynch mob was
about to attack his villa when the Americans surrounded it, and after he proved
his identity to a musical member of the unit, saved him and his family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Strauss and the far more
mysterious Furtwangler were unpopular with many powerful Nazis (the conductor
more so) but Furtwangler's case will always be equivocal, as his letters to
Albert Speer who played both sides, indicate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And yes, many, many of the
people who had to escape the Nazis and got into </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> suffered horribly. Bartok (who was not Jewish but
anti-Fascist) suffered with fatal illness he couldn't afford to treat and was
evicted from the apartment he shared with his wife and son ON HIS DEATH BED.
Zemlinsky, a greatly gifted composer and conductor, nearly starved to death and
died elderly and alone in terrible poverty. That could easily have been the
fate of Schoenberg who had a younger wife and two young children to support. He
landed the teaching jobs in LA at the last second, was badly paid and horribly
treated at both universities and was forced to retire, but was able to survive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">So it's entirely
understandable that those who faced no immediate threat from the Nazi racial
laws and had families to support stayed, did what they had to at galas and
parties, and hoped for the best (but there were hold outs, Marta Fuchs refused
to give the salute and vocally condemned the Nazis. Somehow she escaped. The
entire family of the great composer Karl Amadeus Hartmann went into internal
exile in a very rural area and coped with severe discomfort rather than
compromise with the regime. The famous composer, Stockhausen, kept his head
down; his father was in the army and died in battle, his mother had a nervous
break down, went to the hospital for help and was shot. When he went to get her
body and asked why, he was told "we can't waste food on the
worthless".)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But Fraulein Schwarzkopf
lived well, in safety, was celebrated until the very end of the war, where
after a very bad few months she seduced an American officer who gave her a
pass. It is not for me to say she was a bad person, nor dare I suggest I would
have behaved heroically under the same circumstances (though as a queer I would
have very likely been killed or sent to a camp). But I strongly condemn those
who either out of sick idolatry and sheer stupidity lie about what she did.
Whatever her talents and later fame, they don't answer very disturbing
questions about her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Meanwhile, with Netrebko: I
assume she has received, and, despite her dual citizenship, continues to
receive benefits in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> (which has created a super rich class of amazing
resources none of whom are going to battle Putin). She supported a monster, as
did the far more corrupt and vicious Gergiev (why don't our Schwarzkopf
defenders track down the fifty or so gifted Russian artists he destroyed?).
It's abundantly clear how this mediocrity has benefited from the patronage of
Putin. But the Met is a business; canceling (buying out) the contracts of all
Russian citizens none of whom would find it wise to defy Putin, whatever their
personal beliefs (or proclivities) is probably prohibitive in the conservative
and frightened eyes of Peter Gelb, who in any case would have to get board
approval for any extensive and expensive action (hell, most of those people are
sorry there aren't concentration camps here). The Met's statement will probably
have to do; perhaps there will be a demonstration. I could fantasize simply
replacing all Russians with gifted Americans (there are very many) but were I
in his position would I really do it? Meanwhile, </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Vancouver</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> is willing and able to host the Olympic games. The
world should face down vicious tyranny. But the world is a dunghill of
interconnected multinational corporations. We can expect worse; Madame Netrebko
is a star because of it but not the worst result of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Here are some reactions to on
line discussion of this by </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">opera lovers</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>I care more about voice, not sexual orientation of
the singers and their politics.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Art in the </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">US</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
needs to transcend politics. Many, many
people in the </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">US</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">
still discriminate against the gay community so it doesn't seem that we are
totally on the right side of this issue anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Yeah !! Let's ruin the Met.</i></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The opening night of the Met's season is <b>NOT </b>the place for a protest about human
rights abuses in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Netrebko is not a political figure. She is the best
soprano we have today.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>..these suggestions of some...about boycotting the
Met's opening "Onegin" ...is just another example of "mid-summer
silliness"</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Netrebko is my favorite!</i></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Maybe it’s not the new
Russian Fascists alone that should be banned but opera lovers, and hell, even
opera?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hitler and Winifred Wagner greet one another at Bayreuth.</span></div>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-47976792258780282892013-07-30T21:40:00.000-07:002013-08-10T13:39:28.391-07:00Music at last! What a relief. I hate opera! Sometimes.<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Writing a few weeks ago about
what was once “new music”; I realized, not for the first time, that opera is a
mental illness. A few days ago I listened to one of my favorite pieces, Brahms’
A major piano quartet, something even I played (badly) way back when. I staged
a war between the old Arthur Rubenstein and the Guarnieri (Arthur’s second go
at the piece, very romantic with a lot of rubato and Arthur clearly dominating
the proceedings with many the tempo change mid phrase), the fantastic </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Sviatoslav Richter</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
live performance with the Borodin quartet, an utterly demented and very
thrilling performance, with the Borodins keeping up with Richter with ferocity
(just barely in the orgiastic account of the final movement), the Domus quartet
with Susan Tomes interrupting tea with just a few slices of mince tart and the
great Hollywood Quartet with Victor Aller.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">(this is another great performance, with the </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">phenomenal</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Russian pianist Maria Yudina)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I read along with my tattered
score and what was my response? “Thank The Dear there was no singing!” Music at
last! What a relief. I’m sorry about the description at the head of this blog,
I hate opera!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Sometimes. On Saturday, poor
Mrs. Claggart’s Facebook page exploded with encomiums of varying hysteria to an
Italian tenor named Mario del Monaco. (Mrs. Claggart has only three friends on
Facebook, one of them “Mr. Bianco, IRS”. But she has 300,000 enemies, a
category Zuckerberg’s elf invented just for her.) I had to wonder how many
people had ever heard of Mario del Monaco? I know not many people currently alive
heard him. Mrs. Claggart, when she was a boy, now that she’s a girl, heard him
three times in two seasons before a nearly fatal automobile accident reduced
his immense, deafening, nothing like it since volume, and prompted him to be
more careful both about high notes, and his manner on stage, which became less
obviously certifiable (though by the mid 1960’s he did regain some of that
Twilight Zone Form adopted by the older Italian tenors). But there is a lot of
Mario out there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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(Mario sings "Ghost Riders in the Sky" in Italian)<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">He was a world star from the
late forties and made a great many too closely miked records. Why, I knew a man
who had perpetual ear ache. All in fear and atremble he went to his doctor.
“Perhaps you’re having a stroke,” the doctor allowed reassuringly. Then the
doctor settled back. “Have you been listening to Mario Del Monaco records?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Why yes, every night,” the
patient replied. “For hours. My wife makes me use headphones” “Well, sir,” said
the doctor, breaking out his old Calabash (this was when medical people smoked
and died young), “there’s your answer. My wife dragged me to see this so called
Del Monaco in<b><i> Otello</i></b> and though they all said he was sick and saving, I had a
headache and hearing loss for a week. Switch to this young fella named Domingo.
You can barely hear him, you’ll be good as new in a couple of days.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Besides Mario’s commercial
recordings (all on Decca except for an early EMI) there are tons of pirates.
You can also <b><i>see </i></b>Mario. He journeyed to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Japan</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> with the Italian companies that ventured there every
year starting around 1955. The cameras capture his exuberance. At the end of
the <b><i>Andrea Chenier</i></b> with Renata Tebaldi, as they go off to the guillotine, he
actually leaps toward the blade, loses his balance and falls off stage (and
dances out to his deafening ovation like a champ). Audiences worshiped him
(well, maybe not the English, they had </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.5pt;">Jimmy </span><span class="ecxapple-style-span" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.5pt;">Johnston
and Ken Clark </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">for the big roles). The
hysterical response given his Canio in Pagliacci there is amazing (but it’s a
thrilling performance). He did a Carmen there with Giulietta Simionato, all the
famous excerpts survive. In the final scene, failing to convince the obdurate
Carmen to return to him, he beats his breast in heart break and frustration. I
hadn’t seen that since my father did the same regarding me.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I played that excerpt for a couple of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Manhattan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> litigators who said they were opera lovers. They
roared with queenly hysteria. Luckily, I didn’t play the final scene from his
Don Jose in Carmen at the Bolshoi, also a collection of excerpts with the great
Russians,<i> </i></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Irina</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Arkhipova</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> and </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Pavel</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Lisitsian</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. T</span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">here he scre</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">ams, sobs, beats his chest, waves the knife and all but levitates when
he finally runs to kill Carmen. What would those lawyers have made of that? And
what would they have made of the Russian audience of dignitaries who riot after
his Flower Song? (And yes, Don Jose sings it, not The Celestial Voice from <b><i>Don
Carlos</i></b>, as James Oestreich seemed to think in his review of a recent Carmen in
the Paper of Record the New York Times).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">He was the most famous (though
not the only important) singer of Verdi’s <b><i>Otello</i></b> in the 1950’s (bravo, Ramon
Vinay!) and one can see him in Japan, reportedly with the flu but the abandon,
ferocity and breast beating heart break are all there (as are the renowned Tito
Gobbi as Iago and the adorable Gabriella Tucci).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But those litigators would
have laughed; it’s a peek into a vanished era. They would have been indifferent
to the (eloquent) gestural vocabulary that is part of the acting of the
principals and inclined to giggle at “acting” techniques designed for the stage
and those in the far balconies not for the camera, and perhaps embarrassed that
a group of adults could take an opera as seriously as Del Monaco and Gobbi and
Tucci do. Had those wealthy consigliori to the 1% been inclined to father
children, their teenagers would have been completely bored within minutes and
soon would have been texting, sexting, playing video games and surfing the ‘Net
simultaneously.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The Japanese use a three
camera technique, borrowed from American sit coms; it works, even in a big theater.
The cameras can get close enough for detail but one never loses that this is a
stage performance and distance is important. When the cameras pull back one can
see three mikes hung from the ceiling, mid house. They are to get the sound
clearly on the tape not to amplify or help the soloists. How different from the
multi mike and camera fraudulence on the HD broadcasts from the Met, which
deliver a very difference experience from the one those sitting in the theater
had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">These </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Japan</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> performances (and the highlights from The Bolshoi) are
probably best experienced from VAI (</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="http://www.vaimusic.com/">www.vaimusic.com</a>)</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. They’ve put archival films on DVD and cleaned them
up as much as possible. All the Japanese films have Kangi subtitles with
English subtitles under them, which takes some getting used to. The picture quality
of the earlier performances is often somewhat washed out. Besides Mario, there
are marvelous demonstrations by Carlo Bergonzi (an amazing <b><i>Un Ballo in Maschera</i></b>),
Renata Scotto, Alfredo Kraus (an incredible <b><i>Faust</i></b>) and Antonietta Stella (my
high school pals and I used to call her Toni Starr. I met her some years later
and explained this would have been her Motown Name. She squealed with joy). Her
performance of Minnie in <i><b>The Girl of the Golden West</b> </i>is stunning, the only
completely idiomatic and the best sung on a video in an otherwise somewhat
ramshackle performance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Mario also appeared on the
RAI films that began to be made for Italian TV in the early fifties. They are
lip synched but they are carefully prepared and feature singers who are forgotten
now like Mrs. John Claggart and her twin and we aren’t even dead (who would
miss Clara Petrella in <b><i>Manon Lescaut</i></b> and <b><i>Il Tabarro</i></b> or Carla Gavazzi in <b><i>Cavalleria
Rusticana</i></b>? There is even a great <b><i>Pagliacci </i></b>with the young, gorgeous Franco
Corelli, who, freed of having to produce his tone live, proves to be a
wonderful and moving actor. Mario’s accident cleared the way for him to become
“the greatest Italian tenor” in the world, and although he couldn’t count, phrase, and
sing at the same time, liked to squeeze his nose, wiggle his jaw and do tongue
exercises while others sang in live performances, the sound was thrilling.
Mario hated him. Naturally. I hate a lot of people too. I understand).<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(The <b><i>Chenier</i></b> doesn't translate from You Tube, this is from the <b><i>Otello</i></b> with Carteri)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Not all the RAI films are so
effective. These involve one massive camera stalking the singers. The great Rosanna
Carteri sings a spectacular Violetta in <b><i>La Traviata</i></b> but has a hard time lip synching,
becomes self conscious and then, when the huge camera machine comes swooping in
for her close ups, she starts to run away from it. She had charisma,
though; if not there, in a performance filmed live in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Naples</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> by RAI in 1958. This is of Puccini’s usually
dismissed <b><i>La Rondine</i></b>, but it is a very moving performance, conducted by a
Puccini pal, quite old obviously, Vincenzo Bellezza, who understands the heart
breaking nostalgia for a time lost that throbs under nearly every bar,
unashamed to use string portamenti and a well controlled but large scale rubato
to make these melodies soar (how plain so many sound elsewhere! Even Brahms
would have cried). Carteri was very beautiful and is so full of longing and
tears that the entire experience is unforgettable. This is also in excellent
quality from VAI, distributing the Italian Hardy Label.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Wait have I become an opera
queen again? I’ve relapsed!!! As Anthony Wiener knows, the Brahms rehab center
did not take!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Well, I am a writer with the
runs in any case. And we were talking about Mario. He did an outstanding <b><i>Otello</i></b>
for RAI. But his best performance is in a stunning film of <b><i>Andrea Chenier</i></b>. The
hokey storey is enacted with life or death intensity, and that extends to all
the roles, even the smallest, played with almost Dickensian detail by those
wonderful Italian supporting singers of that era (they’ve vanished, as have the
stars – none have had successors). Understanding that there is no audience
present and that the camera will come very close, Mario who was a good looking
man, is utterly human, believable. He relaxes into a completely natural
impersonation of the doomed poet. And he is
matched by those great singers, Toni Starr and Giuseppe Taddei.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Let’s face it, there was
nothing wrong with the composer, Umberto Giordano, that five more years in a
tough American conservatory wouldn’t have fixed. Well, he wasn’t as great a
tune smith as Cole Porter (who did time in a tough French conservatory, the
Schola Cantorum) but in this opera he knows how to set up his tunes very
effectively and the recitative beginnings to the many sections that will
eventually almost flower into being memorable are wonderfully done. James
Levine told me that <b><i>Chenier</i></b> was one of the hardest operas to do; Giordano does
not use key signatures not because he couldn’t read music as the naughty have had
it, but because he belonged to a political movement that disliked hierarchies
of all kinds. But </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Mo.</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> Levine averred getting winds and brass to deal
accurately with music full of accidentals (signs that the note should be played
up or down) was murder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The RAI films can be found in good quality from
Premiere Opera, and they have good prices, too! (</span><cite><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.premiereopera.com/">www.premiereopera.com/</a>)</span></cite><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Well,
Sunday cleared the air for Mario. But opera? There is this gene (or is it a
mixture of nature and nurture?) that makes some of us deeply sensitive to voices,
so much so, that a timbre and manner we respond to, even on record, seems three
dimensional to us. We can become obsessed with some of those magicians, to the
exclusion of other factors that</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span class="textexposedshow" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">matter in opera. Mrs. John Claggart adores music. The sad
thing about opera is that it is, I believe, very dependent on vocal capacity.
This is not to say that a great conductor, a persuasive production, the music
itself can't compensate for a merely adequate cast. I think sadly, that even adequate
casts are rarer than they were in a time when singers were generally less well
prepared musically and far less inclined to "act" whatever that may
mean in opera. I see on the “Opera ‘Net” people claiming that Konzept style
productions will bring youths into the opera house. I like some of those
productions too. But if those youths have no response to the music, what is
there to enjoy in a Konzept production? I have met many the intellectual (and
great) musician who thought opera was worthless. Perhaps it is my weakness but
I love it, not exclusively, but passionately. And that is why I am sad that
there is such confusion, pretentiousness and fakery in the form today. I
recently had occasion to listen to music by Carter and Feldman, what a relief that
was! But would I want to be without opera? It is a dilemma and maybe I should
shut up.</span></div>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-76504833165987167952013-07-14T02:22:00.000-07:002013-08-01T01:25:04.843-07:00Music is the art of the prophets and the gift of God. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDZfjZsRVpyXKr5bsTDtuQJ_mDdUnG5BiaMNfq9XGHmQkKBNxbxWgm8yA1q14r6OpkKxlVgpG2ombkQVSOmjfnlmXfDvFARH9khBWrdxkveJKCu-yF_wzB843qUAe5YnK1rd_lkDVx9VN/s1600/rauschenberg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDZfjZsRVpyXKr5bsTDtuQJ_mDdUnG5BiaMNfq9XGHmQkKBNxbxWgm8yA1q14r6OpkKxlVgpG2ombkQVSOmjfnlmXfDvFARH9khBWrdxkveJKCu-yF_wzB843qUAe5YnK1rd_lkDVx9VN/s1600/rauschenberg.jpg" height="320" width="226" /></a></div>
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(Rauschenberg <i>Retroactivo</i> l, 1964<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I was thrilled to listen to Sony’s recent release of five CDs, called as a group, <b>Prophets of the New</b>. I found myself weeping hearing these, many of them never available on CD. Oh, by the way, I’m letting my twin, Albert, write this week. As a widder, I know the sorrow of loss. But he knows it better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>Prophets of the New</b> may not be the most crystal clear title for this release. This is music that was new from the nineteen fifties to the seventies, by composers who were then in their primes. It’s sad to think that gifted creators such as Luciano Berio (1925-2003) are forgotten, that Elliot Carter became something of a joke among the ignorant, He died in 2012 at the age of 103. Between the ages of 90 and 100 he composed forty works (!!!) But the CD devoted to him is from the height of his creative energy and contains two of his greatest works, two of the greatest works in “serious” music. Morton Feldman (1926 –1987), eccentric and a proud New Yorker of a very specific sort, has only recently become a subject of great interest. He was an American original; his music has a profound beauty that no description can convey. One CD, alas too short, is conducted by Bruno Maderna, one of the great musicians to emerge after World War Two and a tremendous composer. Here he presides over some of the central pieces of this era, including Krzystof Penderecki’s <b>Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima, </b>Karlheinz Srockhausen’s <b>Kontra-Punkte</b>, its piano solo played by another remarkable American composer-performer, Frederic Rzewski. Also there is an outstanding piece by the forgotten but important Earle Brown (1926-2002), one of the inventors of “Downtown”, and a piece by another immensely influential creator in the field of electronic music (<i>musique concrete</i>), Henri Pousseur. Finally, there is one of the great Columbia records (as it would have been known in the old days), superbly transferred, <b>The Rite of Spring</b> conducted by yet another great composer/performer, Pierre Boulez, with the Cleveland orchestra, and his stunning account of <b>Jeux</b> by Claude Debussy with the New York Philharmonic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I guess I am old now. I owned all these records. Then, some were released by RCA, and I wore them out. I bought the Berio and Carter three times on vinyl. They were released in the mid and late sixties when I, a fool, thought I might be able to live somehow in music, making music. For some of that time I was at The California Institute of the Arts where I studied with the formidable Schoenberg pupils, Leonard Stein and Dika Newlin, more doctrinaire than the Master himself, and frightening.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But in memory, I adore them, and Dika was an incredible person, an amazing woman, a genius, who like too many of us (including we who are less gifted) lived too long and died struggling to keep that spirit, that energy, which gets buried under the detritus of having to live among the pigs, vital, ageless, alive. Before then I had studied in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Philadelphia</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and even, in 1965, met the amazing Stockhausen, when he was in residence at the </span><st1:place><st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">University</span></st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> of </span><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Pennsylvania</span></st1:placename></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> (where I don’t think he was much liked). I listened to him lecture and shook his hand, a fat boy still, with no evident promise but I felt – dimly – the electricity. Of course in that </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Philadelphia</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> orbit were three composers that I know were great, largely forgotten now. One is George Crumb still alive and living around the corner from me. He’s 83. There was the complex and influential George Rochberg (1918-2005) and the profoundly kind Vincent Persichetti, 1915-1987 (sadly, none included in this package but copyright probably creates problems for republishing their music on sound documents, and who would buy it?) It’s rather brave of Sony to release these CDs. I don’t know if they will sell, but anyone who doesn’t listen to them is the poorer for it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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(Jackson Pollock, <i>The Flame</i>)<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Unfortunately, Art in America first of all, had become a minority preoccupation by the time most of this music was written. “New Music” was a phrase that for those modest numbers hugging their Dvorak LPs, kissing their Haydn busts, automatically condemned what these men were doing. They were among the first generation in the history of art to be blamed for their genius, shrugged off, often without even a listen. Those who had certainly had to listen to the Tchaikovsky Sixth Symphony quite a few times before “getting it” and feeling comfortable with it, hated that Carter or Feldman or Berio required – and rewarded – the same kind of concentration. Though there were Newspapers still and people actually read them, and all had arts pages, sadly, then as now in the few starving survivors, mostly manned by fools, their only hope was to become trendy, which didn’t always last. Opera lovers, notoriously the most unmusical and certifiably philistine group (“All I want to know is did she sing and hold that unwritten E flat.”) had no interest at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">American concert audiences, probably the most conservative in the world, would talk through newer music or walk out on it. It was at a New York Philharmonic concert that Morton Feldman met John Cage. They were both so disturbed at the audible hatred of a Webern piece the orchestra had dared play, they had walked out and encountered one another, both upset, in the lobby. As happened in that vanished, magical </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, Cage took Feldman into his circle of friends, all artists, and helped Feldman move more easily on the path he was exploring already. Cage did Feldman that greatest service one New Yorker can do another; he found him an affordable apartment (next door to Cage, in fact). But he also articulated what Feldman was feeling. One of Cage’s dicta was "getting rid of the glue so that the sounds would be themselves”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It’s the sort of thing that happened in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> into the early 1980’s. Not impossibly expensive to live in and so full of gifted people one was apt to trip over them and start a conversation. For someone who aspired to be an artist it was the most stimulating, the craziest, the most intense laboratory in the world. I had that experience myself when I moved there, dead broke, after graduate school at Yale, in 1974. Within months it seemed I had met everybody. Some people I already knew, but I literally collided with Wystan Auden in the street on East Fourth, I met Leonard Bernstein in an elevator. I bumped into Alan Ginsberg at an airless, seedy party in the West Village, given by a crazy neighbor of mine on Waverly and Bank Street who he only knew vaguely and when it seemed all was lost, rather than make excuses and flee (as some had already done) he started to “jam” his poetry, an incredible experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was hefty and clumsy and ethnic looking as
Feldman was, gay, as he was not, my close acquaintanceships and friendships led
not to bed (though for the beauties of both sexes and all proclivities that did
indeed happen) but to other meetings and other friends, endless conversations,
five a.m. cups of coffee and a run to one’s makeshift job (I was a messenger
for a time!!!!), quiet visits to crazy galleries where one could study the
work, groups congregating at Village spaces where strange music in sort of but
not quite a pop style (my era was the
height of “Downtown”) was played and one always got to know the artists. I met
Patty Smith and her insane but remarkable circle at a gathering of that kind. Her
intimate, Robert Mapplethorpe lived across from me when I moved to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Chelsea</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, then rather a dangerous neighborhood.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">(Morton Feldman and John Cage)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">Perhaps I find Feldman so hypnotic because while he transcended all of this to create mysterious works that were instantly unforgettable. I also think I understand the clash between a strong ethnicity, inescapable for him (his parents were Russian Jewish immigrants, my father’s family were Southern Italian immigrants and we both grew up in almost entirely ethnic communities).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The Sony CD has three works, two of his greatest shorter pieces (he went on to become notorious for the length of his later compositions). At Cal Arts he was put down. Like most of these composers he rejected serialism and “undue” intellection. "The point is to erase in one's memory what happened before,” He said often. (Later, the theorists at Cal Arts developed a respect for him). He went on an interior journey to search out the sounds somehow ricocheting through his brain, through his being. That meant rejecting or trying to, most that was standard practice. "I don't know what a composer is," he once said. "I never knew as a young man, I don't know now and I'm gonna be fifty next month."<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space">His lectures (I went to some in </span></span><st1:state><st1:place><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></span></st1:place></st1:state><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">) were very eccentric affairs and sometimes, I think, he was teasing an earnest audience that wanted “meaning” or safety. Art, he knew, isn’t about safety, it’s about danger. It’s not about knowing in advance but discovering during and perhaps understanding later. And music is the most powerful and dangerous of the arts. “</span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I'm not creating music,” he said in a lecture, “it's already there, and I have this conversation with my material, you see” The music used in <b>Rothko Chapel</b>, which is the first piece on the CD devoted to him, is "already there”. He felt a kinship with Mark Rothko, both from Eastern European Jewish stock, both, though especially Rothko, concerned about what exactly art tells us, how we perceive it, whether meaning can ever be pinned down.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Rothko, Underground fantasy (subway)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Rothko Chapel)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Feldman “eases” into <b>Rothko Chapel</b>, meditating for ten measures. The five note chord in measure 11, played by the viola, celesta and vibraphone, is repeated eight times in various contexts in the course of the piece. That gives the ear a frame of reference, a map of sorts. Many of these composers repeat a great deal, changing sonority or the configurations of the chords. Feldman’s reiterations don’t seem to be building, there is no pressure, but with the inevitability of an object not at first perceived but always there and suddenly understood, in measure 314 a “quasi Hebraic melody” is sung by the small chorus. It is simple, beautiful and seems “new”, but it is actually very similar to the chords played throughout the piece. Feldman creates a small miracle of a work in which there is a quality of freedom from time in the chords that are repeated, and a piece that ends with a “line” that has a set shape. It’s astounding and moving at first hearing and more remarkable in repetition. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Frank O'Hara at MOMA looking at the camera with Sol Lewitt and Jeff Koons)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">For Frank O’Hara, is a piece
of very quiet meditation, repetition and silence; it’s as though Feldman were
summoning an evanescent presence. “I prefer to think of my work as between
categories,” Feldman said. “Between time and space. Between painting and music.
Between the music’s construction and its surface.”<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span> O’Hara wrote that he tried to
keep "lies and evasions" out of his poetry. Feldman remarked on
O’Hara’s "all-pervasive presence that seems to grow larger and larger as
he moves away in time". O’Hara died at forty. Walking on the beach at<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><st1:place>Fire
Island</st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">, he was hit by a dune buggy.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span> </span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">After these pieces that haunt the memory,
which are very moving, there is a wonderful study in sonority, rhythm,
repetition and variation for percussion called, ironically, </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">The King of Denmark</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. The playing of Max
Neuhaus is stunning.</span> <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">Luckily, I heard Elliot Carter’s<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Variations for orchestra<span class="apple-converted-space"> (1956) and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span>Double Concerto for Harpsichord and Piano with two chamber orchestras<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>(1961) live, fairly often. The first time I heard the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Variations for orchestra<span class="apple-converted-space"> I was stunned and overwhelmed; every
time thereafter the thrill was renewed. This is an incredible eruption of
musical energy, phenomenally organized and controlled, but not to the point
that its wild fires are doused. It’s not a typical theme and variations piece
but rather an explosion of creative energy that after study one realizes is
carefully organized. There is indeed a theme, though it doesn’t appear at
first, and there are two contained musical gestures that Carter called
ritornelli. They reappear, varied, but give the work a shape and certainty,
while the theme when it is finally stated in full is changed in a dazzling
variety of ways. Depending on how one “sets” one’s brain one can hear this work
as a coruscating display of harmonic and instrumental variety, from chords that
haunt the memory for days to instrumental combinations that are sheer magic. Or
one can experience a gorgeous outpouring of tunes, parts of tunes, melodies
that expand and contract, making it seem one of the most beautiful works for
full orchestra ever written. It is all that and more, and is stunning as
performed and recorded here by the New York Philharmonic under Frederik
Prausnitz.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>The Double Concerto</b> seems to have begun in Carter’s mind as a serious work but in his notes he quotes the great satirist, Alexander Pope, as an actual inspiration. Musically, it is an amazing achievement, antic, odd, haunting, edgy and very beautiful indeed. Carter’s balancing of the two solo instruments and his handling of the orchestras is astounding, and live, the range of color, the wit, the emotion is overwhelming. This is also a great recording. Paul Jacobs, harpsichord, was the keyboardist of the New York Philharmonic. He was both a great musician and a great player. He would be an AIDS death; his many recordings, most on the Nonesuch label when it was run by Theresa Stern, are phenomenal but most have vanished. The pianist is the phenomenon, Charles Rosen, a wonderful player, but the greatest American music critic ever to have existed (he died in 2012 at 85). Ironically, his roommate at </span></span><st1:place><st1:place><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Princeton</span></span></st1:place></st1:place><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> was another great music critic, Michael Steinberg! Neither saw precisely the lives they would have at that time.</span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The third work here, <b>The Piano Concerto</b> (1964-65) is somewhat thornier, yet those opening chords always thrill me, and the way thematic material develops through this virtuoso piece (spectacularly played by Jacob Lateiner, who commissioned it, with the Boston Symphony conducted by Erich Leisndorf) is finally thrilling – and moving -- as the piano, solo, simply fades away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">Carter was kissed by the
muse: Charles Ives encouraged the boy to be a composer (Ives sold insurance to
Carter’s family!). He studied with the great and ignored American symphonist
Walter Piston at Harvard (as did that third important music critic, Peter G.
Davis, still writing brilliantly, and for a long time the only knowledgeable
voice at the New York Times, then, increasingly, the only knowledgeable voice
about music in New York, magazine and city), then, of course, like so many
Americans, with Nadia Boulanger in Paris (searchers after little known but very
beautiful music should seek out the small body of work left by her sister,
Lily, who died young). Aaron Copland was a passionate admirer of Carter’s and
Igor Stravinsky thought he was the great American composer of his generation
(The Piano Concerto is dedicated to Stravinsky on his 85<sup>th</sup> birthday). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u2:p></u2:p><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;">Just a few words about the
Berio CD. Of course, it contains the four movement Sinfonia with the
Swingle Singers and the New York Philharmonic under the composer. This is a
work very much of its time but it’s also irresistible. The singers mostly speak
both carefully chosen and randomly heard lines accompanied ingeniously by the
orchestra. It’s most famous movement is the third, where the accompaniment is Berio’s
version of the Third Movement of Mahler’s Second Symphony, where with sudden
side slips, quotes from other composers leap out, the most instantly
recognizable is a bit of Ochs’ waltz from Der Rosenkavalier, but Bach and
Debussy and Schoenberg, Stockhausen, Posseur and Berio himself put in
appearances as well. Berio was close friends with Umberto Eco (author, among
much else, of The Name of the Rose) and read Joyce (quoted in the
third movement, along with Samuel Beckett and Frank O’Hara, along with sentences
and catch phrases from the Harvard students Berio spied on). Berio describes
the whole work as a river in his notes. It’s an early postmodern collage
of music, verbal images and odd displacements that deliberately overloads the
senses, and like any substance that does that, it’s delectable. Also on this CD
is the marvelous Allelujah ll – best heard live because five
instrumental groups are distributed around the hall. But the CD is wonderfully
recorded and Berio’s co-conductor is Pierre Boulez.</span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b>Allelujah ll</b> has a lot in common with Karlheinz Stockhausen’s <b>Gruppen </b>but it is a sweeter work of great charm. Berio and Stockhausen also had a influence on various rockers in common. One of Berio’s students was </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt;">Phil Lesh, the <b>Gateful Dead</b>'s famous bass player, who almost followed Berio to study further in </span><st1:place style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Europe</span></st1:place><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt;"> but accidentally met somebody named Jerry Garcia. But Stockhausen triumphed in this regard: Frank Zappa praises him in his liner notes for <b>Freak Out!</b> His debut with the Mothers of Invention in 1966. Pete Townshend of <b>The Who</b> remarked on an interest Stockhausen, and Rick Wright and Roger Waters of <b>Pink Floyd </b>followed his lead. LSD was no detriment in appreciating the slightly mad German, <b>Jefferson Airplane </b>admired him. And greatest accolade of all, his face appears on the cover of <b>Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band</b>! However, Stravinsky, after a brief period of being influenced by Stockhausen (as he was influenced by nearly everybody over close to a century), put Stockhausen down as a bore. It didn’t matter to Karlheinz who famously said:</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> “</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt;">I was educated at</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> <i>Sirius</i> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt;">and want to return to there, although I am still living in Kürten near </span><st1:city style="background-color: transparent;"><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Cologne</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt;">.” On hearing this, the great conductor,</span><span class="apple-converted-space" style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Michael Gielen </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt;">snarled: "When he said he knew what was happening at Sirius, I turned away from him in horror. I haven't listened to a note since", he accused the composer of "hubris" and "nonsense", though Gielen (a Moon Child) himself believed in astrology!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sony has released two other CDs that are must haves
for we insane collectors. One is Leonard Bernstein’s famous account of</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Rite of Spring</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">(in its original 1913 form)
from 1958. This was a Bernstein specialty, as a young man he even prepared a
score for his mentor Serge Koussevitsky of the Boston Symphony so the latter,
baffled by the constant changes in meter could manage to lead it. Bernstein
himself needed no such thing. His complete immersion in the piece not only
yields a very accurate account but an orgiastic, mad ceremony of dementia,
which puts a tremendous strain on orchestra and on recording team, luckily all
are equal to it. Stravinsky said he loved what Bernstein did and maybe he meant
it. Bernstein rides two horses in triumph: the modern aspects of the work’s
harmonies and rhythms and its debt to high romanticism in sheer crazy abandon.
In a sense, he catches and highlights Stravinsky’s debt to all those wild late
romantics who could hardly contain their emotions, their madness, but at the
same time exercises a razor sharp control. The wildness of this performance,
its risk taking, its exaltation, its noise, its sudden sweetness and
insinuation, these together are not to be encountered elsewhere. Sony has
created an engaging package.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The other wonderful
CD called Journeys is the Emerson String Quartet (assisted
wonderfully by Paul Neubauer and Colin Carr) playing two sextets. One journey
is outwards, Tchaikovsky’s popular Souvenir de Florence, (1890) played
with rich tone and virtuosity, a sense of humor and the unabashed singing sense
the second movement demands. The other journey is inward, Schoenberg’s gorgeous Verklärte
Nacht – Transfigured Night from 1899, long before he had become the
monster many still regard him as being (without knowing any of his music). This
is the first time the quartet has played this piece.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Actually
both works have something in common: they are about sex. </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> was where hordes of
gay men from repressive countries went in search of young men and boys who were
always accommodating and often on sale. There is an underlying seriousness in
the work, also sweetness and longing. As it happens it is in D minor and that
was Schoenberg’s favorite key. It is the key that opens Transfigured
Night, which by the end of the work, where the problems of a passionate sexual
relationship between a man and a woman are resolved has become D major. It is
based on a poem by Richard Dehmel printed in the score (and in the Sony
booklet). Dehmel was the poet of the Strauss’ lied, Befreit. He was also
tried for obscenity! Well, after all, the poem ends with the man placing his
arms around the</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">woman’s hips and…!</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">SONG</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">(by Frank O'Hara; there is a reference to Beethoven's Quartet no. 15, where the composer writes "muss es sein?" Then later insists, "muss es sein!" Frank isn't so sure it "must be so.")</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am stuck in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">traffic in a taxicab<u1:p></u1:p><u2:p></u2:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">which is typical<u1:p></u1:p><u2:p></u2:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">and not just of modern life<u1:p></u1:p><u2:p></u2:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">mud clambers up the trellis of my nerves</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">must lovers of Eros end up with Venus<u1:p></u1:p><u2:p></u2:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">muss es sein? es muss nicht sein, I tell
you<u1:p></u1:p><u2:p></u2:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">how I hate disease, it's like worrying</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">that comes true<u1:p></u1:p><u2:p></u2:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">and it simply must not be able to happen<u1:p></u1:p><u2:p></u2:p></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<pre><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></pre>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">in a world where you are possible</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">my love</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">nothing can go wrong for us, tell</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">me</span></div>
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<pre><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">(Frank O'Hara)</span></pre>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-29662166410137776732013-06-24T00:24:00.001-07:002013-06-24T00:26:15.641-07:00Parsifal: Wagner's Secret Gospel<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In <b>Parsifal </b>Richard Wagner was
massaging his hemorrhoids, whilst resting one cheek on a Cosima embroidered
pillow and applying <i>Schopenhauer’s lotion</i>
to the throbbing wound within, when he cried, “Cosima, Crikey! I will use the
suffering of the sex obsessed wounded king on the one hand and a pretty boy on
the other, and have my devil woman laugh at Jesus then die! It’s not about
racial purity and how impure races have infiltrated us, the idea is the W</span><em><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">orld </span></em><em><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">as Will</span></em><em><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> and </span></em><em><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-size: 14.0pt; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Representation
</span></em><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-size: 14.0pt;">(Die
Welt als Wille und Vorstellung)</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> -- it is <b>Schopenhauer</b>!!!!” “Master!” Cried
Cosima as she slipped to her knees….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Actually, I’m joking. But how
many idiots write in that style and can tell you just what <b>Parsifal</b> means? I see perfervid defenses of what, taken literally
is indefensible, all the time, written by morons such as Stephen Jay Taylor
(among the biggest idiots to hold forth) who uses his Dictaphone whilst playing
‘hide the gopher’ with the preposterously stupid Richard Garmise (also from Opera
Brittania.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">So many people feel they must
share their thoughts of <b>Wagner the Man </b>or
<b>No he really didn’t mean it </b>as
though they know anything, as though there really were such a thing as table
turning and they could talk to “the Master”. Meanwhile, their thoughts on what
we can actually know about his music and it’s execution in a particular piece
are banal, unperceptive and so moronic they are probably deaf – presumably the
reason other idiots from up the food chain hired them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’m no longer amused by the
Wagner industry; he was writing entertainments and <b>Parsifal</b> has all the sex and religion one would expect in <b>Thais,</b> for example. If Massenet
perforce must forego all of Anatole France’s wit about Christianity, the pretentious
worship of the Greek masters, even the twisted psychologies of his leading
characters (a pagan whore converted to The Christ by a Christian nut job named
Paphnuce in the original – Massenet had enough sense to change the name to
Atanael!), the result is at least not a pretentious farrago. <b>Parsifal</b> is not a work of philosophy –
Nietzsche saw through that with priceless wit. Its libretto is a libretto,
period. Did Wagner mean it, do you think? Actually the writing is less pompous
and self regarding than most of “<i>the Master’s</i>” work, he uses free verse, easy
rhymes, many exclamations, old fashioned recitative now and then, and only some
of that ringy dingy nonsense known as Stabreim (pardon, <i>ringy dingy</i> is an old person’s reference to <b>Laugh-In</b>, though a good many recent productions of Parsifal, not an
opera but a <b><i>Bühnenweihfestspiel,</i></b> are rather like <b>Laugh-In</b>). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">That long word means a
“Sacred Stage Festival Play” and there is a pun contained in the word “weihen”,
which means a “consecration”. How does the word <i>sacred</i> relate to Schopenhauer, an atheist, who was part of the
first intellectual group to actually discover how contradictory, illogical and
obviously much edited after the fact the Gospels were? How does the notion of
“consecration” relate to The Buddha, supposedly another influence on the story?
How could The Christ have been Aryan when even in Wagner’s time scholars such
as Ludwig Feuerbach understood that if there really was a Joshua (Jesus is the
Greek version of the name, a language a poor Jew would not have spoken, but
since Aramaic was the language spoken most widely at the time, <b><i>The
Savior</i></b> was probably called Yeshu) he would have been a small, dark,
Palestinian who very likely never saw a blond person in His life!!! He might
have thought one was the devil!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Jesus as he very likely looked)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">One may feel inclined as a
perfect Wagnerian to screen these things out as we do in entertainments that we
are legislated to enjoy and settle back and enjoy the music. But still the
pretentious posturing out there, the automatic assumption that mere operas are
“profound”, “searching” or even particularly revealing of what their creators
really thought about complex issues irritates the Widder</span>. </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Certainly as a dramatic text,
Parsifal is preposterous. It relies on endless exposition; its symbols are
embarrassing, its point confused on the surface but stemming from the bigotry
for which Wagner was famous. Its view of women is ludicrous; the odd sex scene
that forms most of act two has -- like the entire work – to be hedged when
described by the <i>Wagner Industry,</i>
explained in contradictory ways that reflect nothing that would actually ever occur
in life. But there’s no question that in Wagner’s plan Kundry the eternal whore
must die – <b><i>redeemed </i></b>by the beautiful Aryan boy who has declined her favors
but baptized her into – what? <b><i>Schopenhauer? Buddhism? </i></b>Is it to be
taken at face value, do you think?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It’s really all nonsense, modern
directors try very hard to minimize the composer’s own explicit directions. Kundry
lives nowadays, sometimes she takes over in contemporary <i>Konzept</i> productions. They must ignore <b>The Master’s </b>contemporaneous hate filled writings, and even worse,
the snippets of colloquial bigotry to be found in Cosima’s million word diary
around the time of his composing <b>Parsifal</b>
where The Jews are likened to a swarm of flies in the wound of a horse. Or,
Cosima records a “capital” joke of Richard’s, “All the Jews should be
burned….”. God help anyone who is not white and doesn’t join an all male
society that believes the myth called Christianity, “a human being who is born
black, urged upwards to the heights becomes white, and at the same time a
different creature”. (these edifying quotes and more of the same can be found
in Cosima Wagner’s Diaries, </span><st1:date day="9" month="2" year="1882"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">February 9, 1882</span></st1:date><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and </span><st1:date day="18" month="12" year="1881"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">December 18, 1881</span></st1:date><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But most of the people hired
to write or talk about music can’t. So they refer constantly back to the
prolix, pretentious, bizarre texts, which can only be tolerated not because
Wagner was a great thinker, psychologist, or good heavens, a dramatist. He was,
more often than not, able to write music of remarkable power. Unless there is
something else going on in Parsifal, as some Theologians of the seventies
thought there was a <i>secret</i> Gospel to
be pieced together from hints and oddities in the familiar canonical writings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I was able to get a video of
The Salzburg Parsifal this spring, telecast on March 28. Led by Christian
Thielemann, the cast includes Johan Botha, Stephen Milling, Wolfgang Koch and
Michaela Schuster. The production is by <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Michael Schulz</span>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Thielemann as a Karajan assistant)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There was some controversy
because the Berlin Philharmonic had gotten a better offer from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Baden-Baden</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and decamped with their leader, Simon Rattle. Very
late in the game, Thielemann jumped in and brought “his” orchestra, the Dresden
Staatskapelle.</span> <span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But he also made a decision
to do the work with an attention to details of orchestration and harmony that
is often lost in standard performances, no matter how well played and
rehearsed. To achieve this lighter weight; and to support rather than war on
the singers, he raised the pit and urged the orchestra to listen to the singers,
and the singers to “locate” themselves within the orchestral fabric. He
emphasized the vocal lines and how they were set and how musical details
colored and enriched them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The result is amazing. He
achieves an astonishing range of colors effortlessly, without needing all the
tricks of slowing down, sudden speeding up, inserting pauses or italicizing
phrases. Rhythms have a wonderful spring and immediacy but are varied subtly to
increase both the songfulness of the writing and also, when needed, to add intensity
without the heavy-handed rhetoric one is used to. Above all, he has ignored the
lexicon of mannerisms <b>Parsifal</b> has
attracted at least since the fifties; there isn’t any of the faux “spiritual”
stretching of phrases, there is no forcing of climaxes. Nothing is dragged for
effect, there are no oddities of balance or showy sudden shifts in sonority in
the orchestra, and there is no playing with phrases, extending or contracting
them, deliberately creating instability of movement in search of mystical <i>hypnotism</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Instead, the score sounds –
well -- new. The colors are Wagner’s, the balances are honest. I have my own
suspicions about why Thielemann made these choices; the emphasis here is on
what matters most, the composer’s extraordinary musical invention, seductive,
challenging and above all, in its time, original. His singers all are exact,
prompt, musicianly. Though this cast in general is not a parade of vocal
marvels, it is rewarding to follow with the score because the singers have been
coached so carefully to operate within the musical framework. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">If this was much or part of
Thielemann’s strategy, it is entirely understandable here. No one in their
right mind would want to <b><i><u>see</u></i></b> what is transpiring on
stage in this production. Though Wagner’s psychological “insights” and
philosophical pretension are worthless, this particular attempt to make them
palatable is grotesque first to last – not amusingly grotesque just fun house
nutty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Whether I am right,
Thielemann has actually followed the composer not the story teller. In <b>Parsifal</b> the motives flow up from the
orchestra, rather than from the vocal line or (with a few exceptions) by being
generated by dramatic events. There are fewer “obvious” leitmotifs; instead,
there is a remarkable free flowing musical invention where the composer uses, with
evident spontaneity, musical material from the first act effortlessly changed,
reharmonized, differently colored to create remarkable effects, imitations of
which will be heard well into the 1920’s. For my taste it is the most
astounding and stimulating of Wagner’s works musically, a work of infinite musical
resource and originality. By avoiding the usual inflation and pomposity, the
all too familiar stasis, Thielemann and his virtuoso orchestra allow the results
of the composer’s imagination to flower. Whatever one thinks of the work’s text
or dramatic concerns, the odd beauty, the shock of the music is evident in
every bar. Sad that there are words too, or at least, <b>these</b> words.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Anyone who looks at a score notices
that Wagner has quietly created a new kind of modulation that carried further
would weaken and undermine the importance of tonality. The beginning of act
two, “the sorcerer’s lair” is a version of the serene beginning of act one –
but in act two the stability of the chord underlying the start of the opera is
destroyed by the introduction of a tritone (“the devil in music”). Throughout
much of the opera, diatonic harmony is always on the brink of extinction.
Wagner continually bases his key relationships not on the expected
tonic/dominant mode of modulation in tonal music, but on thirds, constantly
shifting one’s sense of a firm tonal center. Even the more obviously diatonic
stretches have unexpected resolutions or shifts that call established keys into
question. Everything in Parsifal evolves, shifts, twists. This is most obvious
in the highly chromatic, for its time very daring and for us, fascinating, act
two. But even in the first and third act “classical” progressions harmonically
can never be taken for granted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Is it possible that the
harmonic instability of the work, its experimentation, its oddities (often
smoothed out by the standard performances) contain a secret? Does the music
suggest that Wagner himself doesn’t really believe this story either? Is it
possible that the old man, writing what was certain to be his last work,
decided to make Christological textual references(after all both his terrifying
wife and crucially his patron, King Ludwig, had to be convinced of the probity
of Wagner the man, something he was conspicuously lacking in his real life),
while calling all meaning into question? It is nice to believe in redemption,
but is it real? Can we be sure? Perhaps this is why in the <b><i>Good Friday Spell </i></b>of act
three the typical emphasis on suffering quickly gives way to the beauty of
nature renewed every spring, perhaps the only life after death we humans can be
sure of. And maybe that is the secret underlying what seems forced,
hypocritical, weird or pompous on the surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Just
a few words about the production: The enormous Johann Botha is dressed all in
green throughout the entire opera, with a big and tall style bargain store
jacket that once seen will haunt one’s dreams for life. The equerries and
helpers of Gurnemanz are dressed in white uniforms. When the music tells us
Kundry is riding up ferociously, they form a circle around Gurnemanz and jump
up and down. They look like Woody Allen’s version of anxious sperm in his
version of <i>All you Wanted to Know about
Sex</i>. Amfortas looks very hearty to be in agony from a wound that won’t heal,
and during the Grail ceremony (whatever the Grail is, it is in a box picked out
of a back alley) two Asian women who appear to be topless entwine themselves
around him. And oh, yes, we’ve already met Jesus crucified. He appears shortly
after Kundry does, “shadowed” by what appears to be a ninja. This Christ is
very taken with Kundry, and walking like a crippled mime he follows her around.
But then Parsifal has appeared with a troop of boys wearing green t-shirts and
white jackets (I thought he was wandering alone fighting his way through the
world? Guess not).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In
act two, the setting is a museum with white statues that suggest cheap
antiquities though I thought one giant head looked rather like Wagner retching.
The real villain is a little person (let’s be un-PC and call him a dwarf). This
dwarf is a virtuoso mugger, twisting his face into astonishing shapes – even at
his curtain call! Klingsor is sung by Amfortas (actually the music of both is
chromatic and to a degree related, maybe the director reads music). But it’s
the dwarf who “conducts” the action, sitting atop a big head. Kundry has doffed
her trench coat, dragging it behind her, revealing a tattoo sleeve and she has put
on shoes. Her dress looks like it was gotten from a dumpster but that trench
coat will come in handy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In
scene two, the girls wear cute burlesque style uniforms that come off to reveal
filmy dresses, but some of their number wears white 70’s disco attire with big
boots, the Jane Fonda Barbarella look. Parsifal enters with his troop, this
time a bunch of – twinks – I think is the colloquial word in some circles.
Twinks and girls whirl around each other and make out while Parsifal watches –
a bi-curious pure fool? This goes on through the seduction scene. Parsifal and
Kundry stay as far apart as possible. He sits through most of the scene. She
lolls on a statue of what might be the Buddha, making out with it, since
Parsifal doesn’t seem interested. The Crucified shows up here too and naturally,
Kundry and he are mighty attracted to one another (the “Tristan” chord appears
right after Kundry says, “sein Blick” in her narrative of laughing at The
Christ, maybe she was turned on, too – that’s certainly Wagner implication.
Again, maybe this director actually read the score. Although whether The Master
wanted us to see The Christ and the whore of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Babylon</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> ogling one another is a question). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Act
three is bare planks, dead bodies, Parsifal in green suit but holding some kind
of home made mask made from a wire clothes hanger in front of his face to
start. Soon enough boys and girls in green show up to demonstrate nature’s
renewal. And here’s Christ again but this time he falls dead. The Ninja strips
off his black <span style="background: white; color: #444444;">shinobi shozoko</span>
and – it’s another Christ. Only he’s handsome, young, and aroused by Kundry.
But he has bad luck, at the very end of the opera, though Parsifal has redeemed
everybody (even Amfortas still strong enough to drag those two Asian dancers on
with him, and to hurl his dead father, a plaster of Paris mummy, far behind the
stage), this new Christ is crucified again just as he and Kundry appear about
to conjoin. She is forced to her knees at the foot of the cross. Black out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This
is a wonderful performance to listen to. Thielemann’s balancing of chords and
pointing of details and the instantaneous response of the orchestra is magical
throughout. His ear is a keen as Boulez’ on his recording, but Boulez’
orchestra is not on this level and he has no feeling for the romantic gestures
in the music, often rushing through. His great scene is the Klingsor scene,
fantastically realized, but Thielemann with a somewhat riper sonority matches
that. When the music should expand or have a highly colored quality Thielemann
provides it without ever making a meal of anything. Boulez does not or will not
expand. Armin Jordan who conducts the sound track for the once crazy but in
comparison to this production interesting Syberberg film has a similar feeling
for the flow and inevitability of the music and for its frequent changes and
odd modulations. But again his orchestra is not as good or as responsive, and
his male chorus, though they make an impressive general sound, doesn’t really
sound prompt and idiomatic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Koch,
Amfortas and Klingsor is a virtuoso; he sings the magician’s very hard line
with it shifts in key and easy to miss notes precisely, and his rhythm is
superb, as is his elocution. As Amfortas he is hamstring by the production, but
his phrasing and specificity musically are very rewarding. He has a fine voice,
but not the glamour of tone Peter Mattei demonstrated this spring at the Met,
the gorgeous ease of the younger Jose Van Dam on the Karajan performance, or
the impact of George London on the first Knappertsbusch (1951). And for a real
experience of agony and grandeur one can find Hans Hotter’s stunning early
account of the third act monolog live from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Vienna</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milling
is a good Gurnemanz, not wobbly or hoarse, always in tune, with clear words and
an eloquent feeling for his phrases. It’s a good, dark, somewhat high set voice
without the gorgeousness of Kurt Moll (first Karajan), or the immense abandon
of Ludwig Weber (Kna, ’51) or the verbal magic of Hotter in the 1960 Kna, where
his singing is variable and he wobbles but the impact of his performance is
magnificent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
adore Michaela Schuster, I loved her as the Nurse in <b><i>Frau</i></b> from last year’s
Salzburg Festival (that is another great musical performance accompanying an
odd, distracting production, available on a Decca DVD) and I’ve seen her be a
thrilling Ortrud. She holds back here, concerned with staying in tune, and also
keeping her tone focused as the line gets higher in act two. It’s a very
intelligent reading of the role, but her singing is modest in impact.
Physically she is not well cast, and thanks to the TV close ups, often looks
uncomfortable (since she has to stare with lust at a hunky young Christ one
can’t blame her).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Opera ‘Net scum, like the
stupid fool, Stephen Jay Taylor, make fun of Botha. Of course, he’s badly cast
physically. At the same time the role was being sung at the Met by the handsome
Jonas Kaufmann and in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Berlin</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> by the very Aryan looking Klaus Florian Vogt. Both
are good actors, Kaufmann particularly, and both were in more supportive
productions. In a different time Botha would have shown up in front of the
designer and cut that suit to pieces. Even in a different time though, Botha
would probably have been thought better cast in concert. But especially on TV
there is no winning for him. Close ups show emotion in his face but he really
can’t move, and doesn’t. To hear him, though, is another experience entirely.
Far more than Kaufmann or Vogt he is really a heldentenor. He has abundant,
effortlessly produced tone that is both commanding and when he wishes, lovely.
In act three where his singing is splendid throughout, he has a wonderful piano
which is fully attached to his voice, not a croon, not separated from how he
produces his tone, he can vary dynamics with skill and to fine effect and his
grand “Nur eine Waffe taugt” is really thrilling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Even though one can find a
better performer of this or that role, I hope this is released as a recording.
It’s a phenomenal <b>Parsifal</b> and a
curative one and maybe a subtle demonstration of Wagner’s secret.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I should note that I don’t
care about <i>regie</i> or off beat
productions. Some work really well; I’m something of a fan of Peter Konwitschny
and Hans Neuenfels. Both have profound, disturbing, powerful ideas about the
operas they direct. Of course some productions in this school misfire and
others are amazingly bad like the Salzburg <b>Parsifal</b>. But exactly the same can be said
of “conventional” approaches, which often settle for the most obvious and tired
images and sometimes miss the point of the opera in question just as much as a
demented <i>regie</i> production. Loren
Maazel, last week, was hostile to these “new” sorts of productions (not so new,
in fact) and bragged that he got a huge positive response. He is a man of great
general culture and intellect who also ran The Vienna State Opera; all the
same, one has to go by the particular production and the kind of sense it makes
of that senseless form, opera. Generalizations, even by someone as experienced
as he, rarely have value in any large sense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-40013374491509954192013-06-10T00:51:00.000-07:002013-06-10T00:51:33.498-07:00THE OBESE, THE GIFTED, THE AUTHENTIC<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Ruggero Leoncavallo)</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I got to thinking about fat
people who create music. That may or may not be because the widder and her poor
twin, whose name is around, wanted to compose and are persons of size. Alack!
Neither had any talent so life went on and music was the better for it -- if you
call what they do living and </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">think </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">life is better in these times --“auguri” as the
Italians say. In fact, there aren’t many
fat composers. Handel loved to eat. The
sums budgeted specifically for his meals when he would be the guest of one or
another cardinal in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Rome</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> are enormous. Known as <b><i>Il sassone</i></b> – The Saxon –
his gigantic size was much remarked. It’s a pun, since “ona/o/e” is applied to the chubby in a familiar context. He was both "The Saxon" and the <b>BIG </b>Saxon. (We are assuming the reference is to Handel's overall size and not a particular organ, but given his suspected proclivities and the known ones of several of those cardinals, it's best to keep an open mind). Violetta
might be called Violettina after a night of love by Alfredo, but were the sex
act fattening for her he might pinch her pudgy cheeks and croon, Violettona, or
since, many Italians leave off the final vowel if they are being familiar, she
might be Violetton’ – perhaps more in the South than the North. When old
Germont arrives to break the couple up, he might remark instead of “pur tanto lusso!” (what luxury), “eppur si mangia!!!”
(You eat a lot).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Handel was tall, though, and while he looks hearty in some
portraits he doesn’t appear to have been fat. Schubert was teased by his
friends for being chubby. Rossini was plump. Wagner had hemorrhoids and needed
plush pillows upon which to sit. That suggests he liked to eat starchy foods
but he wasn’t fat. Though judging from his choice for the first Tristan he
didn’t mind fat people:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">(Ludwig Schnorr von Carolsfeld)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Brahms and Puccini, judging from portraits, look as though they gained weight in age, though not so much as to be remarked on. Toscanini hated fat people, being tiny himself. He used to make nasty fun of the gifted and on a few records, remarkable, Albert Coates:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sadly, Maestro
Coates greatly admired "Tosca" (as the 8000 or so women the
erotomaniac bedded called him), But the widder and her twin aren't so naive.
There are many, many millions of hideous thin people, and guess what? They die too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But we were thinking about fleshy composers. About the only one
who comes to mind is Ruggero Leoncavallo. He wrote<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b><i>Pagliacci.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i></b>He was a genuine fatty. In
fact, Toscanini called him,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Mangia-cavallo</b>,
meaning<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i><b>horse eater</b>.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>One can't pretend our Leoncavallo
was a great, or even by the highest standards, a good composer. But the widder
has a weakness for the quite awful <i>verismo</i> movement in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. Puccini, the only Italian genius of the
time, was a member merely to a degree -- although like the others he was
influenced by Massenet and Wagner and by Catalani who was from the same town
and loved by Toscanini (in that rumbustious, emotional way of Italian men
for one another, all tears and embraces, dances and lady chasing but no sex).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Toscanini told Puccini that he could never match up to Catalani, a
composer of considerable gifts who never completely found a distinctive voice
and died of TB at the age of 42 in the sobbing Toscanini's arms. But his most
famous opera, <b>La Wally,</b> is a lot of fun as well as the
inspiration for the name of Beaver's brother, Wally, the sex idol of The
Widder's childhood in the American masterpiece, <b>Leave it to Beaver</b> --
our sad twin preferred Johnny Crawford in <b>The Rifleman</b>, sort of
American verismo! (yes, yes, the widder is aware that Wally is short for some
American name -- goodness! could it be<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Wallingford</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">? No, more likely, Wallace. But the widder
always thought, wouldn't it be wonderful for a suburban American couple to
name their older son after the wild Valkyrie of the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Alps</span></st1:place><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">who is crushed contemplating sin in an
avalanche? Actually, the theme for<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>The
Rifleman</b> with its opening rather Wagnerian horn call is
by Herschel Burke Gilbert who died at 85 just ten years ago. He matriculated at
Julliard, studied with Aaron Copland and became rich enough to form </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Laurel</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> records which featured a remarkable range
of works. In<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>The Rifleman</b> he
wrote both leit motifs and longer themes for particular characters, and in fact
his work in that overlooked medium is very distinguished -- he was at least as
good as most of the Verismo composers. But perhaps this is all one needs to
know).</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But all that going on last week about
authenticity got my twin and me to thinking about famous composers who have left behind
some concrete indication of how their music should be performed, <i>before</i> the long playing record or even the "electrical" recording process (starting about 1927) where in good sound and without worry, a composer/conductor, or a performance supervised by the composer could make his/her intentions (at least of that moment) clear. There was a vinyl explosion of sorts starting in the early 1950's of new and very recent music performed or supervised by the composers but too often these were small labels with uncertain distribution and short lives.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It's true that a fair number of recent composers have had the opportunity of complete performances in good sound, often with famous performers, to make a case for their music. For the still living but lesser known, Naxos has released reasonable to excellent performances of some of their music, as have other smaller labels -- although performances can vary considerably in security, assurance and excellence of execution. One misses the Louisville label and its vast catalog of American music. It's sad that a great company such as Nonesuch could not stay in business as it was first envisioned by Teresa Sterne, and too many of their authoritative releases have not found their way on to CD.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But I'm thinking of an older generation of composers, those who died before recording technology reached any heights. In many cases one must look to piano rolls. And our mind jumped
immediately to Leoncavallo playing his Intermezzo from <b>Pagliacci</b>. It is a very soulful performance. These
rolls come from various places and were made in various ways, and there has
always been controversy over how reliable tempos were, since speeds could vary;
also attribution is sometimes a problem, since documentation can be lacking.
But there is no question in this case; this is Ruggero Leoncavallo in 1905. It’s a
piece I’m very fond of, based as you know, on the lyric section of the
Prolog, sung by the baritone (usually the one who plays Tonio, but for the
first night it was sung by the Silvio, Mario Ancona, scarcely less famous than
the first Tonio, Victor Maurel, creator of Iago and Falstaff in the Verdi operas,
whose idea the prolog had been, he also came up with the opera's title. “Un nido di memorie” – a nest of memories -- sings
the soloist -- meditating on the creative process. This is developed into a lovely
short piece.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Leoncavallo plays in an old
fashioned way, rolling the right hand chords, getting the left in slightly
before the right and taking a free view of the tempo. No one will know how
Toscanini conducted the first night since he hated the opera. Leoncavallo may
have lifted the idea at least as far as putting the crime of a jealous husband killing his wife in a theatrical
milieu from the French writer, <span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Catulle Mendès, who certainly thought so. But then, in counter suit, Leoncavallo accused Mendès of lifting his play from
an earlier Spanish play, and insisted <b>his</b> plot was based on a case his father, a prosecutor, investigated in his childhood in Calabria. The musicologist, Matteo
Sansone, in investigating all this, suspects that Leoncavallo at least got the
idea from Mendès and other French writers and then scrubbed the more obvious
evidence of influence (the composer spent most of the 1880’s living poor in
Paris.). Leoncavallo was very clever theatrically. He was one of seven librettists to work on <b>Manon Lescaut</b>; he had the idea to make an opera that
would be called <b>La Boheme</b> and foolishly told Puccini who took the idea and
literally ran with it, getting it on a year earlier than Leoncavallo’s
interesting, more cynical version, truer to the source material but not the
masterpiece the Puccini work is. And then he came up with a soap opera, that
when performed with commitment in the right style is pretty effective, called
<b>Zaza</b> (also in a theatrical setting, and to be barely heard in a pirate starring
Mafalda Favero from 1950 – but there it is overwhelming.)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">However, since
Leoncavallo is thought a lousy composer there is no definitive version of Zaza.
A recording with the queen and sadly the undertaker of verismo in its last true decade, the fifties, Clara
Petrella, uses the German edition, cuts, variations in melodic lines and all,
translated back into Italian. There was an MRF LP with a version from the publisher's archives and some corrections, starring the American, Lynn Strow Piccolo, now a proud member of the <i>Tea Party.</i> But while that is the most accurate version (and Madame Strow-Piccolo is very good) there still are questions about cuts, simplifications and some odd harmonic readings. Even the doyenne of 21<sup>st</sup> century Opera
chic work ethic, Renee Fleming, uses an odd variant for her quite sincere recording of one
of <b>Zaza’s</b> tear jerking scenes; probably most clearly heard from Claudia Muzio
on one of her Edison records, transferred superbly by Ward Marston. That is
young Claudia at her heart breaking bitter sad best.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Pardon me, but I must play that. Zaza, a music hall performer, has discovered that her lover is married. She goes to his home and his little daughter plays the piano for her as she waits for his wife. She says, "how could I hurt this little person?" and yet -- and listen to her say "ho sognato, ho sognato" -- I've dreamed, I'VE DREAMED...!!!" As though life's victims should even dare dream of -- something, anything, love...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Perhaps that is a case of a magnetic interpreter of great imagination ennobling an obvious piece (we write as we wipe our eyes). But back to the question: can
a conductor capture the sweetness of Leoncavallo's playing with a marvelous modern
symphony orchestra simply by looking at the score? The charismatic leader here is another
short, thin man, Herbert Von Karajan.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I think I’m with Ruggero on
this one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But how about a <b><i>real</i></b> composer? Gustav Mahler made
four piano rolls including the finale of his Fourth Symphony, truly demented but not
on You Tube. So, with some hesitation we can skip over the Funeral March from
the Fifth Symphony (not quite as demented), and settle for a song, “<i><b>Ich ging mit
Lust.</b></i>” This is a delectable, slightly naughty tune, to which our Gustav does surprising things. The composer starts with very simple material in D major with just little
notes but soon has conjured up the woods (in the bass), the tree tops (a rising
triad and a bit of bird song), a quick shift to the minor lets us in on an
amorous early morning tryst, and a reassuring return lets us know that’s
something the couple will enjoy again. This is also from 1905.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">But since this is a song, we need a singer to make his or her own decisions as well as a pianist to help out. This is Christa Ludwig with Gerald Moore from 1957.</span></div>
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(lyrics are at the end of this blog)<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">If the question here is does
a composer’s actual performance suggest a style, which interpreters can learn
from, I think the answer in this case is yes. Mahler’s performance is
surprisingly edgy and hard. The bird song has something aggressive about it. The
bass is inflected to sound almost threatening. Nature in Mahler isn’t always
friendly or safe. The text suggests a mild dalliance but they can turn
dangerous (see <b>Pagliacci</b>). In
Mahler’s performance there is something unstable, a sense of surprise. In
Ludwig’s attractive singing there is allure and musical sophistication, from
her pianist too. Perhaps given singers and songs that’s all one can really hope
for and it’s fine. Yet two conductors who were mature musicians were champions
and friends of Mahler, Oscar Fried and William Mengelberg. Alma, Mrs. Mahler,
rather liked Mengelberg but thought Fried, almost as eccentric as her husband,
“too Jewish”, something she thought of her husband too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Those still inclined to
doubt that Alma Mahler was the most audacious and flamboyant liar ever to
publish "non-fiction" should read Jonathan Carr’s carefully documented and entirely
unsentimental – about both husband and wife -- biography. If they are inclined
to say Mahler’s younger associates, Bruno Walter and Otto Klemperer were
“calmer”, “more tasteful” or "truer" interpreters than Fried and Mengelberg they should keep in
mind that both had to fight to get performances of the works, and that neither
wanted to be thought “too Jewish” – translation: too emotional, eccentric,
abandoned).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Fried and Mengelberg left
complete recordings of two symphonies. Fried made a remarkable account of the
huge Second Symphony in 1924 by the acoustical process. Mengelberg’s broadcast
of the Fourth was recorded in 1939. Both offer performances very much in the
spirit of Mahler’s piano rolls. Both are careful to observe all of the composer’s
many expressive markings, but they are free about tempo, rhythmic articulation,
phrasing and dynamic level. They take big risks, Fried more so since he is
obviously working with a reduced orchestra (and when the time comes, chorus)
and there are substitutions of instruments. It doesn’t matter; the performance
is dangerous. It is ferocious, ironic, uproarious, mysterious, Jewish and
Christian, It is a study in contradiction, in tempestuous moods that change
quickly, in crazy outbursts, and intimate whispers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">No other conductor, though
all get “better” sound, comes anywhere near this emotional abandon. Just as no
other conductor makes a point of observing all of Mahler’s indications as broadly
and forcefully as Mengelberg does. They both make full use of the rhetorical
devices we know that Mahler used, portamento, rubato, sudden extreme dynamic shifts, yet in
both cases what they do seems to proceed from whatever produced the music, not
merely from their willfulness (or more typical in our time, timidity). I think
even in the tiny song as played on the piano roll these qualities are present, they are present in the
longer pieces Mahler banged out. Mahler was a contradictory personality,
ruthless, unpleasant, manipulative and nasty, needy, vulnerable, lonely, angry,
social, witty, worldly, a success who was a failure, a failure who succeeded
beyond what would be anyone’s wildest dreams, a Jew who became an odd,
sentimental Christian, and the victim of a vicious horror who won their brief
battle. Walter (“drat that I was born a Brit, had I been a Jerry I’d have saved Our Adolf") Legge -- like Hitler he loved Lehar above serious music -- always said Mahler was a phony; that it was all superficial
effect, and even that is true sometimes. You shouldn’t be able to predict a
Mahler symphony, you shouldn’t feel comforted after one. It doesn’t matter if
Mahler would have made very different choices. He probably did, in the same
work in the same period as “the spirit” moved him. Fried (best heard on the </span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Naxos</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
pressing) and Mengelberg (Phillips) and Mahler himself suggest as much. And
that <i>is</i> present on what he left behind.
But I think it will be a long time before renewed study of his autographs and
other documents (including in this instance sound documents) will lead to what
might well be crazier yet truer Mahler. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Another source of "authenticity" is teacher/disciple pupil communication. This in fact has been a mainstay of trying to figure out just how those 19th century composers who taught or had circles of followers who taught meant their music to sound. Many composers needed the income from teaching, and famous musicians, when they could no longer perform, taught (when it comes to singers, it's true they often taught what they never knew to begin with).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">On the one hand the nature of music means that much can be transmitted by a good teacher, on the other hand, though, great performers have big egos and their own ideas, and if they are instrumentalists, live long enough frequently to develop styles of their own. "Romantics" (one could probably describe most performers with that word -- flexibly used -- into the nineteen twenties at least) often valued, some would say, over valued, the impulse of the moment, their own moods, a trust in psychic connections over literally following the score. So, whatever their teacher who had studied with famous composer X had said fifty years before, might go up in smoke, as they indulged themselves. Yet the score is both a crucial indicator of what should happen, and a series of hints. A computer can play the notes, but only a human can make sense of them. Composer-performers themselves often took liberties with their pieces as the spirit moved them, sometimes they forgot them altogether -- as Richard Strauss in New York, forgot the accompaniments to his songs when playing for Elizabeth Schumann and improvised as she sang what he had written! Still, if old music is going to dominate our repertory, shouldn't we want clues as to what the creator really wanted in performance? Perhaps we are talking of a precarious balance between "accuracy" and impulse. But if the impulses come from an "accurate" and complete sense of what the composer intended, then the impulses are likelier to be "true" in their own way. The corruption of the familiar by mindless repetition and habit that we've seen in so much of the "standard repertory" might be avoided, less by slavish and mechanical devotion to written notes then by a constant immersion in them, so that a talented interpreter is never merely taking the over familiar for granted but also never ascending into weird spaces just for novelty's sake.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Our minds (my twin's and mine) went to a favorite piece: Chopin's Nocturne in F sharp major, Opus 15. There is a piano roll by the great (though controversial) Raoul Pugno made in 1903 and there are two important historical records, one by Edouard Risler and a second by Alfred Cortot (from 1948). All three had close connections to Chopin himself. Pugno studied with his student, George Mathias; Risler and Cortot studied with Emile Descombes, a close disciple of Chopin. According to Pugno, Mathias quoted Chopin complaining that the piece was always played too fast. But in the Henle edition of Chopin, which publishes the urtexts (and certain alternates), the metronome marking is faster than Pugno uses and Risler plays the urtext exactly. Cortot is closer to Risler but by 1948 had stopped practicing and works his own magic (or according to the opinion of some, doesn't). </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The nocturne is composed in the key of F sharp major. According to
Schumann that would be a distant, chilly or frightening key, or one of longing
(it is the key of Schumann's wonderful Romance from his opus 28, also of
the second Scriabin etude from Opus 8.) It is A-B-A form, in 2/4. The
first section is marked </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Larghetto</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, a little largo, slow but not so
slow, it's metronome is 40. The opening melody is one of those endless breaths
spun over an even bass (Bellini seems to be around, the Nocturne was written a
year after Norma). The bass is marked </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">sostenuto</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, certainly
steady but maintained, even sung, as the melody, somewhat unstable with its
trills flies overhead. There is also an arresting
counter theme in f sharp minor, which has an unforgettable
series of </span><em style="font-size: 14pt;">dolcissimo</em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> falling phrases.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Among its
features is a fascinating long ornamentation in measure 12,
marked</span><i style="font-size: 14pt;"> leggiero -- </i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">lightly and very soft -- to be followed
by the marking </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">con forza</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> -- with force -- three bars later.
This is so typical of the feverishness, the abandon of The Romantics that it should
be in the performance, understood to "mean" something by the player.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The middle is
marked<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>doppio movimento</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>(twice as quickly) and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><em>sotto voce</em> --
whispering, perhaps. The haunting beauty of the start is interrupted by
something haunting or odd and this builds with force and in agitation. But
there is a return to the first theme, shortened by ten bars, gorgeously
ornamented and using the extremes of the keyboard until dying away on an F
sharp major arpeggio.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I think Pugno is the most spellbinding of these, also the freest,
with some very distinctive readings of note values. Again, while no one would
say this is the “spirit of Chopin” or that Pugno’s strong personality didn’t
take a hand, his feel for the melodies and rhetoric of the piece really
convince me that Chopin would have recognized the spirit behind the playing. He
would have recognized the piece certainly from Risler. As for Cortot there is a
surprising, haunting spirit, maybe he would have valued that most (or not).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I was going to go on to Lilli Lehmann this week but even I
sometimes have had enough of me; why, my poor twin is huddled on the floor
whimpering. So it is time to stop. But just remember next time you see a
morbidly obese has been, as both my twin and poor Mr. Leoncavallo were described, and want to cry out in derision as fools do -- that crumpet addict may just
have written once upon a time a lovely, haunting piece like Leoncavallo’s
little intermezzo, and cut him some slack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 19px;">Translation of Ich ging mit Lust</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">(</span><span style="color: #0d314b; font-size: 10.0pt;">I walked with joy through a green wood;</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> </span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> I heard the birds singing.<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> they sang so youthfully, they sang so maturely,<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> those small birds in the green wood!<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> How gladly I listened to their singing!<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> <o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> Now sing, now sing, Lady Nightingale!<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> sing by my sweetheart's house:<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> just come when it's dark,<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> when no one is on the street -<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> then come to me!<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> I will let you in.<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> <o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> The day was gone, night fell;<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> he went to his sweetheart.<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> He knocks so softly on the ring:<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> "Eh, are you sleeping or are you awake, my dear?<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> I have been standing here so long!"<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> <o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> "Even if you've been standing there so long,<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> I haven't been sleeping;<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> I let my thoughts wander:<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> where is my beloved,<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> where has he been for such a long time?"<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> <o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> "Where have I been for such a long time?<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> That I should like to tell you:<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> with beer and also red wine,<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> with a brown-haired maiden,<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> quickly forgetting you."<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> <o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> The moon gazes through the little window,<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> at this tender, sweet love;<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> the nightingale sang the whole night.<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> You sleeply maiden, stay alert!<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
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<pre style="background: white;"><span style="color: #0d314b;"> Where is your beloved staying?)<o:p></o:p></span></pre>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-7949434674343027532013-06-04T12:52:00.000-07:002013-06-04T12:52:20.455-07:00YOU MEAN NORMA IS MUSIC? WHO KNEW?<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Norma jigsaw puzzle, ca. 1928)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">NORMA: BARTOLI, JO, OSBORN,
PETUSSI; La Scintilla, ANTONINI <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">DECCA COMPLETE</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">One of the most beautiful and
moving moments in this remarkable performance occurs as part of Bellini’s long
finale. Norma forgives her straying lover Pollione, and tells him that she
still loves him. Pollione is so moved by her sweetness that all of his emotion
for her returns. Cecilia Bartoli floats “qual cor tradisti” with extraordinary mastery
of breath, word and rhythm; it’s heart breaking, very personal. John Osborn, Pollione,
responds with an equal sweetness and tenderness. And the superb orchestra, using
instruments of the period, La Scintilla, plays the rocking, lullaby-like
accompaniment with amazing delicacy and beauty. It’s a suspended moment of
total magic. This recording is full of these moments; it provides a unique and
revelatory experience of the opera. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Alright, that is
a typical first paragraph in a good to rave review for a complete performance
on CD. It's true, that's a magical moment and there are more of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">So much for
reviews, then. This effect is in most cases only possible on a record, of course. The
moment as described would be lost at a huge place like the Met, and in many
other opera houses that seat two or more thousand people. It doesn’t sound
“faked”. The engineers have achieved a believable acoustical space, nothing
sounds over miked (a problem with Bartoli’s attempt to revisit La Sonnambula).
But the mikes create a space small enough for this very quiet account of the
music to sound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Since a live
performance with many of the same performers has gotten some raves (and some
mixed) reviews from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Salzburg</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> within the last few weeks, presumably the approach can
work in the reality of a bigger theater, but of course adjustments would have
to be made. Philip Gossett in his great and essential book, <b>Divas and Scholars </b>(Chicago) makes the
point that not only scholarship but practicality must work in live performances
where circumstances can vary considerably, as they did when the works were new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Still, before we
leave delicacy at the Met behind, it is possible for sweetly inflected, very
soft music to carry even in that barn. But I’ve only heard two conductors
achieve it, Carlos Kleiber and the miraculous Christian Thielemann, in his
astounding note complete <b>Die Frau ohne
Schatten</b>. (Going back a way, Leonard Bernstein achieved an amazing
responsiveness and variety of attack, including miraculous delicacy from a less
good orchestra in the <b>Falstaffs</b> he
led back in the sixties). Repertory performances are not really conducive to
that kind of rethinking and rehearsal, and more ordinary conductors rarely work
for those kinds of effects. Listening to the vaunted Fabio Luisi bang his way
through repertory this season at the Met, with less insight than say Joseph
Keilberth, shows that even a conductor reportedly popular with the orchestra
and as far as the press office has it, “of genius” can do very little or
perhaps cares less about nuance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But even a less
ordinary conductor can fail to achieve a persuasive delicacy and lightness.
William Christie, one of the most important “authentic” conductors in the world
(and a great keyboard player) failed to manage a good <b>Cosi fan tutte</b> at the Met. His effects misfired, tempos were poorly
judged (breathless, arbitrary sounding); he was a problem for the cast. He
could not achieve the unanimity of approach that the far less well known
Antonini achieves on the Norma, no doubt with the encouragement of Cecilia
Bartoli. (Christie’s remarkable accounts of Lully, Charpentier and Rameau
operas in </span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Brooklyn</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, at the far from small BAM may have come
from being able to stay with his own company of instrumentalists and singers,
clearly not only convinced by him but used to his way of working in a repertory
where the orchestral writing is more soloistic).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">(Giuditta Pasta, the first Norma)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">As all the press
has had it, this </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Norma</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> is an attempt
to do for Bellini’s most important opera what has been done for much earlier
music. </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Norma</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> is an opera that Tullio
Serafin, the famous and unfortunately influential conductor used to say, made
him “tremble”; an opera that essentially cemented the Romantic Movement in
Italian Opera, and in fact, had a tremendous influence on Romanticism
generally. (Gossett in surveying Serafin’s mangling of the score on the second
Maria Callas commercial recording calls the result an “artistic wasteland.”
He’s being kind). Wagner says somewhere that without Bellini there could have
been no Wagner; he also referred to endless melody. Bellini’s influence was
considerable, but Wagner is often accused of being </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">swollen</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. A CD by Roger Norrington meant to take the swelling down
wasn’t altogether convincing, but just a short time ago, at Salzburg, Christian
Thielemann raised the pit for </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Parsifal </b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">and
had the Dresden Staatskappelle play with the utmost delicacy to amazing effect.
I have the telecast and may write about it next week.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I once wrote when wasting
time on a list, that the seventy years from 1831 to 1901 contained almost the
entirety of the “standard repertory”. Aside from the popular Mozart comedies,
one Gluck piece and a couple of Rossini comedies that period embraces all the
works <i>opera obsessives </i>embrace as
essential. Verdi and Wagner had their careers entirely in that span, <i>versimo</i> began officially with <b><i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Cavalleria rusticana</span></i></b> in
1890; Puccini had his first successes, Gounod, Bizet, Massenet had written
their hits, most of the Russian operas that show up in the standard rep had
been written.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But there has been an accommodation of <b>all</b> pieces to a typical performing style; <b>Norma</b> is spiced with the strenuous late Verdi and the garlic of
Leoncavallo. Aggressive conductors have inflated Wagner to their greater glory;
the national French style for which Massenet and the others wrote has vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But does a careful
realization of Bellini hold some kind of key to how these works, even the later
ones, should be performed? Pierre Baillot, wrote his famous treatise <b>The Art of the Violin</b> (1835) only four
years after Norma. He wrote of the practical situation: “This change in
notation [from the Baroque period] has been affected by the progress in
dramatic music; it has caused the replacement in instrumental music of melodies
which are for the most part full of charm but whose expression is not clearly indicated,
by a more positive type of melody, adapted to the lyric stage and to the
accents of passion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u1:p></u1:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt;">The idea was
suddenly of “orchestral melody”, where the “band” is not merely functional but
intensely expressive, part of the total dramatic effect. Wagner was struck by
Bellini’s “endless melodies” and paid tribute to his expressive orchestration.
La Scintilla does this to a hypnotic degree on this<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Norma,</b><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and hearing Thielemann realize the
delicacy, the unexpected, sometimes peculiar, utterly haunting orchestral
sounds in<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Parsifal</b><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>makes me question just how much of the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>true</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Wagner, and the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>legitimate<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>late Verdi we have missed.
Composers, even when they disagreed or were captious about one another,
nonetheless built on what their predecessors had done. The infinitely
expressive, beautifully played orchestration on this recording, (though of
course, instruments would be added by later composers) might contain a key to
how these over familiar works really should sound, and perhaps that’s a doorway
to new magic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Authentic”
attempts at very popular pieces such as Bach’s Brandenburgs or Handel’s Water
Music were similar to this </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">Norma</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">:
surprises and occasional shocks were delivered as the best musicians to
approach this music “freshly” did their best to go back to more authoritative
scores, studied early scores for the markings of musicians more in touch with
the style of performance the composers would have recognized, found or built
replicas of the original instruments and looked into musical sources – the
Terpsichorean qualities, the rhythmic snaps, the surprising syncopations
reminded one that dance was a common quality in these pieces, and that tempos faster
than anyone had attempted in hundreds of years were very likely. Performers
also realized that Toscanini had been wrong with his puritanical, over driven
style. With the composer present, instrumentalists and singers “graced” the
music they played, often spontaneously, sometimes slightly the first time
through, and then more generally in repeated material. In Erich Kleiber’s </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">sacred</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> fifties recording of </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">The Marriage of Figaro</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> nothing is
graced or decorated. The “punctuations” that we know were typical in recitatives,
and which, though small, could be deployed to provide abundant intention and
insinuation, are scrubbed out; and the ornaments Mozart would certainly have
expected when melodic material was repeated are banned. We are listening to a
graceless heavy footed account of a brilliantly febrile and volatile work. This
is held as some kind of monument, when in fact it is a grim distortion, and
many of the singers pronounce poorly. The canonization of performances like
this, the canonization of </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>Toscanini/Verdi</i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> where his cuts in </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">La Traviata</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> turn a gifted composer,
already very interesting for his understanding and deployment of the forms
typical of the period, into a clunky amateur, creating grating holes in the
musical fabric as he rushes the singers through, still lodge as important in
the minds of “collectors” and people who write about performance. It’s safe for
some idiot opining for a shrinking population in print, or those many morons on
line to think they are safe from being thought fools for endorsing these dated
and insensitive products of a bad time. Why, perhaps Theodore W. Adorno had it
right, that Toscanini was nothing more than a whore for NBC, using </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i><u>THE
CLASSICS </u></i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">to sell soap.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">As Gossett
acknowledges often, there were different conventions for decorating and even
cutting works in the time of these early Romantic composers, sometimes they did
the cutting themselves, or made changes to reflect the taste of a different but
influential audience. And naturally the taste and preferences of the performers
on a given occasion might yield very different results. Without recordings from
the period, these mid 20<sup>th</sup> century pioneers and their most talented
epigones had to make their own choices about ornaments, when they occurred and
how extensive they were. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">To return
continuously to the period itself, contemporary documents, autographs (though
they can be hard to decipher) early editions, the scores of singers of the
period that they emended or decorated, leads to solutions that can vary from
one production to another but remain true to the intentions of the creator. The
Dictator conductor, romanticized throughout the 20<sup>th</sup> century was
true to his pocket book and inflated reputation, hiding under the notion of
“this is true”, when in fact so much of what these people did was false. (One can
hear the pseudo Boris Godunov of the Soviet conductor, Golovanov from 1949,
where aside from senseless cuts, he decorates and reinforces the already over
decorated Rimsky version! The result is certainly amusing but it has little to
do with Mussorgsky and I’m not sure Boris is really meant to be <i>amusing</i>).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But there has
always been skepticism about this movement (I suppose Historically Informed
Practice or HIP is the current name for it). The lack of recordings from the
period of course is an issue; the conditions of manuscripts (or whether they
exist complete at all), the difficulties of reading composers’ autographs when
they do exist, understanding precisely what was meant, suggested that
conductors and their soloists had to do not only puzzle solving, but a lot of
guessing about what Bach, Handel or Monteverdi might really have expected to
hear, and then, what in fact they settled for hearing. And even if many of the
guesses came close to what these men expected, did our contemporary listeners
really want to hear a small scaled <b>St.
Matthew Passion</b>, with only males singing, when more than a century had
passed with iconic works of that kind given ever more grandiose mixed sex performances?
<b>Messiah</b> of course was heard most
often swollen to an incredible degree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">With a small
number of older pieces becoming hearty perennials, came arbitrariness. The
Beecham/Goosens scoring of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Messiah</b><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>is thought wonderful by many nelly
sniggerers (it can be found roaring like a chemically altered wild beast on RCA
from 1959 in whiz bang stereo of that era, but its wild and
gaudy treatment of music that suggests pious sincerity more often than
theatrical outburst is also arguably far from what Handel had in mind (a pseudo
intellectual attack parroted by many fools and printed in the New York
Times in articles by Richard Tarushkin has been that none of us can know for
sure exactly what Handel or any other long dead composer would have made of any
performance of any kind. Not only Gossett, kindly, but the great Charles Rosen,
less charitably, have praised Tarushkin for his gifts in inventing straw men
and fake argumentation).</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Handel did indeed
have a concern for instrumental color, and in his operas, for vocal (and
obbligato) flash and dash. As Rene Jacobs (one of the best opera conductors in
the Historically Informed Movement) makes clear in his thrilling recording of <b>Rinaldo</b> (Harmonia Mundi -- if you haven't heard Scene 6 in act one, you haven't lived!), Handel had
many of the great instrumental virtuosos of the period in his pit and the
writing for the singers is hugely demanding (not always spectacularly realized there
but with the right energy and abandon). But this was in the context of a small
theater; singers and instrumentalists were in the same world (Roger Norrington,
a scholar conductor of this movement, has written interestingly about eye
contact and careful listening between musicians and the singers, who themselves
were often well trained musically). Without the mass and noise of the Beecham
realization, the striding arrogance of the “opera singer” soloists, ensemble
achieved only by signals relayed from the conductor, Handel’s own performances
probably were more delicate, varied, spontaneous and unanimous. One had not a “thinner”
or “poorer” work but a truer one, notable for a profundity remarkably absent
from all that blaring showing off. Again, no question, Beecham is a lot of fun,
but what he does is something other than Handel. And is it as good as the
results Handel would have gotten with his spectacular performers in London,
long ago?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Bellini worked
hard on Norma; he made many sketches before working on the autograph. After the
first performances he made changes and provided alternatives (for the finale of
act one, for example). As an inventor of Romanticism he was trying to balance
the “professional practice” of his predecessors with an increased continuity
and a gradual accumulation of emotional force. The musicologists who worked on
the new performing edition here were </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Maurizio
Biondi and Riccardo Minasi. Though there are many variations to deal with, this
is a serious attempt to give one kind of performance that Bellini would have
recognized, and the choices made are those from the first night. Bartoli, her
colleagues, and the conductor Giovanni Antonini give a performance of Norma not
as a grand monument, but as a musical work of profound humanity and
extraordinary emotion. Tuned to 430hz as opposed to the usual 440hz, the sound
is automatically warmer and richer, without either heaviness or forced,
strident brightness. Bellini’s actual tempo markings (many faster than usually
heard), the intimacy of the performing style, all guarantee a variety of
attack, an automatic intensity and instant expressivity. The emotional points of the scenes are made
eloquently; none of the singers duck or simplify their challenges but they all
have a firm sense of this style, the words count, the “make believe” of the
story is respected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">This is a
beautiful account of Norma, there are also compromises. Three of the soloists
have difficulties here and there. And as is always true on something that is
recorded it freezes a particular set of "understandings" for good.
There is room for the same processes that gave rise to these understandings to
come to different ideas and there is room for the lessons learned from doing
the work so differently than usual to (one hopes) find more imposing, or
fresher or easier soloists.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’m sure Bartoli is perfectly
aware that she is making herself a target. Opera lovers can tick off legends
and jokes who have attempted the role of Norma and disagree passionately about
who belongs in which category. There are already those who have been attacking
her “hubris” and insisting she is rotten. But every Norma on a complete recording
is flawed to one degree or another. Bartoli’s two enormous strengths are her
command of language and the nuances the role demands. It’s not only that she
has the verbal assurance and clarity of a native speaker, but the declamatory force
of a great actress. The declamation so crucial in the role has never been done
as interestingly, imaginatively and vividly, without the “operatic” carrying on
the “traditional” style demands. Bartoli captures the feeling of a sequence, as
when she is tempted to kill her children, and then varies and inflects the
words and the music they give rise to with tremendous subtlety, imagination and
depth of feeling. What easily becomes hammy elsewhere is human here. Bartoli
doesn’t need to make a meal out of Norma’s expressions of rage or anguish for
them to land with force, any more than she needs to sob, gulp or shriek (as
many of the Normas on record do) to signal the character’s grief, fear and
resignation. She understands the difference between Bellini and Mascagni;
Callas and most of the others did not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Something else that will be
held against Bartoli is that this is very much an ensemble performance. There
is superb give and take between cast members; the balancing and blending of
voices, the way singers contrast or match their timbres, is extraordinarily
rewarding. The orchestra is a part of this, beauty of tone provided by the
wooden flutes, the gut strings, the way in which the instrumentalists blend and
contrast with one another as well as offset the singers, causes one to make the
surprising discovery that Bellini was a master of orchestral effect. This is
Norma reclaimed as great music, not merely a star turn. The conductor,
Antonini, works hand in glove with the singers, providing both dramatic excitement
and, as required, lyric repose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Vocally, Bartoli is at her
best in lyric music, the repeats of which she ornaments with imagination to
great effect. In the bravura writing she can turn choppy and display effort.
She’s rather like Milanov in that regard except she has intellect, musicianship
and seriousness. She has to do some obvious feinting to get through Casta Diva
and especially it’s cabaletta (fast section) “Ah, bello a me ritorna” but I
loved Sediziose voci – she and the best of her colleagues, the outstanding bass,
Michele Petussi, actually talk to one another with intensity and a sense of
high stakes rather than belting out their lines to a big theater. That Norma
finds herself in a dire position, in love with the Roman her people want to destroy
but loyal to her people as well is powerfully communicated as is the bitterness
and resignation of her father (Petussi) who must obey her. The intensity, the
“actuality” of the emotion in their scene actually sets up her following
difficult scena as drama musicalized, rather than as an opportunity for
display. Norma’s prayer is not somnolent, nor is it an excuse for effects; its
wandering vocal line and ornaments suggest unease under the solemnity, and the
cabaletta also serves a purpose in illuminating Norma’s almost hysterical
obsession with Pollione, which will justify her vindictive fury when she
discovers his betrayal. Though there are much better sung versions of this
scena on records, none convey the character’s humanity or vulnerability as strongly.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But while those limits are
real they aren’t the whole story. No one has heard the opera like this, given
with seriousness, passion, precision and an attention to details. The hero
doesn’t bellow Italian tenor style but sounds very much like the seducer he is intended
to be. John Osborn struggles with his difficult, martial opening aria but
improves as the opera goes on, finding the humanity in a role usually yelled at
the balcony. Norma’s father, Oroveso is beautifully sung by Petussi, who
sounds like a human being, pronounces with eloquence and who is never lost in
the ensembles (as usually happens). Finally, there is the issue of the young
woman who Pollione has seduced, Adalgisa. This has usually been given to a
mezzo soprano, often an aggressive one, though she is meant to be a girl who
grows from naiveté to wisdom and bravery. Sumi Jo, a coloratura soprano of long
experience, offers the essential contrast with Bartoli; their famous duets are
sung as music not as contests. Jo conveys the vulnerability and sings much of
her music with great sweetness and sensitivity, despite sounding a little
flinty and pressed in the more virtuosic passages.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">If this recording succeeds in
turning attention to what Bellini really expected to hear and instills a respect
for what he really wrote, it will have been one of the great opera recordings
of the new century. On its own, it is an astonishing introduction to a great
masterpiece, bruised, coarsened and misrepresented on all of its other
recordings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-66912161682751713652013-05-24T08:36:00.000-07:002013-05-24T13:35:49.196-07:00BLESSED CECILIA, APPEAR IN VISIONS TO ALL MUSICIANS, APPEAR AND INSPIRE<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’ve had the Decca pressing
of Norma starring Cecilia Bartoli for more than a week now. I was going to
write a review but when I started to do it something else emerged. The Widder
has known Miss Bartoli for a long time and while she will manage a review, this
is what showed up on the Computer Screen for this week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">1.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The short lady, she looked
like a very buxom teenager, smiled brilliantly at every person she met at the
party in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, full of patrons of the arts and taste makers. “How
do you do?” She asked, in a lilting Italian accent, rather heavy but
understandable, “I am a forty eight year old dwarf.” When people looked at her
in shock, she said, “my press people have created me, I am from the circus.
Here is my passport.” She held up her passport. The age reported there was
twenty four. The name was Cecilia Bartoli. Seeing that she was creating
something a sensation, she continued meeting people and giving details of her
life as a middle aged dwarf. “Oh yes, they say at the circus, ‘you know, you
are getting too old-a for the donkeys, but if you smile and bounce, you can say
you are a Rossini mezzo.’” To a billionaire couple and a prissy critic she
said, “to be a dwarf is perfect for Mozart-a, you know. He wrote only for
little people with very small voices who use too much breath in their
fioratura. In the circus they say, ‘Cecilia,.just a-smile and wear tight pants
and wiggle and no one will notice your voice, and just think, you will never
have to – how you say – somersault again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It wasn’t her first sensation
in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> but it made quite an impression. Edgar Vincent, a
wonderful man, who was her press agent, caught up with her, grabbed her with a
big smile, took her into a corner and hissed, “they will think you are really
crazy and some of them are dumb enough to believe you.” The young lady looked
around the room, found a man who was fat but not too far gone – yet – it was my
sad Siamese twin whose unpronounceable name can be found on this blog and she
pointed, “he said I should do it!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Edgar, who was very elegant, but
could glide with the velocity of a perfectly aimed bullet, headed in my poor
twin’s direction, steam coming out of his ears. Miss Bartoli had caught my twin’s
eye, both were laughing hysterically. Mr. Vincent was not amused, and though
slight of frame, he frog marched my poor brother out of the room with the iron
grip of a Marine and, once free of witnesses, screamed at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I am not certain it was
entirely my twin’s idea, though my twin and Miss Bartoli had spoken uproariously
the day before of the circus, and what buxom but short young women might do
there. Signora Bartoli, Miss Bartoli’s mother, had been privy to this
discussion and appeared to laugh too; my twin, rather a dense sort, alas,
didn’t catch the warning glances shooting from her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This had all come up because
Miss XXY, a rival mezzo who was certainly getting excellent reviews and had had
(after years of trying) some real successes was also in New York and was
telling everybody that this fraud, Cecilia Bartoli, was a forty eight year old
dwarf some power mongers who didn’t especially care for Miss XXY, or at least,
didn’t care enough to represent her, had dug up from somewhere to fool summer
addled New Yorkers, always easy to take in when it came to the arts and if
stuck in town, anxious for a sensation. The dwarf’s reclamé was the product of
public relations and art politics. Miss XXY, not realizing that my twin knew
Miss Bartoli and indeed, her family, had sung her scena for him, inventing some
pretty astounding details about the nomadic life of circus dwarfs, mezzos who
aspirated coloratura, who had small voices and didn’t trill well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Though warned not to share
this with Miss Bartoli, my twin couldn’t help himself. La Signora wasn’t sure
who they were talking about. “Don’t you remember?” Asked Miss Bartoli, “she was
my cover in Cosi at Aix. She’s the one who offered me a hundred dollars to get
sick the last performance.” “Ah si, si, ricordo,” nodded Signora,
“disgraziata!” She spat. Signora Bartoli had indeed had a career as a promising
young soprano in the last years of the Second World War and, with her husband,
had persisted until it was clear they couldn’t earn enough as soloists to support
their children. “Only a fool offers money,” Signora Bartoli had opined that
day, “she should have pushed you down stairs.” “Mama!” cried Miss Bartoli.
“Don’t worry,” had said Signora Bartoli eyeing her full figured daughter, “you
would have bounced and she would have lost face! If you can’t kill someone how
do you expect to sing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Miss Bartoli had a fairy tale
story, which also didn’t endear her to colleagues who had labored much longer
in the fields of sorrow and disappointment before getting what breaks they got.
Her career had begun like theirs. She’d become an exceptional musician and
attended the </span><st1:place><st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Academy</span></st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> of </span><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Santa Cecilia</span></st1:placename></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. “It helped me with the piano and harmony, as for the
voice, it was one lesson a week with someone who didn’t know what they were
talking about.” Bartoli had learned most of her technique from her mother, from
general common sense principals and then from trial and error. She did begin to
get engagements, but they were small, sporadic and low paying. As usual in
careers, important people would say they were impressed but never be in touch
again. The Bartolis were poor and she needed to earn at least enough to support
herself and help out at home. She was going no where. She wrangled an audition
with Christopher Raeburn, one of the great record producers of Decca, he was
very impressed and agreed to try and arrange an aria recital. But in the
meanwhile, no one was hiring her or worse, even willing to hear her.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(ghost written by the wonder worker, Jack Mastroianni)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Raeburn, in
desperation, turned to an old friend of his, the smartest and hardest working
American manager, Jack Mastroianni. Jack was then at CAA under the legendary
monster Ronald Wilford with a dangerous rival, the vicious phony, Matthew
Epstein, who was closer to Wilford. Ironically, one of Jack’s clients was Marilyn Horne,
the most famous coloratura mezzo in the world. He was on a quick visit to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><st1:place><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Europe</span></st1:place></st1:place><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">and had very little time to meet an
unknown who belonged to a category of singer who was a dime a dozen, a light
Rossini mezzo. With Horne, he hardly needed someone else who sang some of her
roles. Like all agents (managers are glorified agents) Jack had to pull his
weight in terms of billings at CAA, one of the most prominent and ruthless
classical music agencies in the world, from which agents were easily fired. His
job was to sell artists for high fees. Who would hire this unknown in that
world, or for all he knew, at all?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But on his last day in </span><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Europe</span></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">,
because Raeburn was a good friend, Jack went to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Rome</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> to hear Bartoli. He expected little. At her family’s
apartment in the Monteverde section, she waited in terror. Her agent of record
was the first Mrs. Pavarotti, Adua. She would later be dumped, but get most of
the tenor’s money and holdings (he was broke when he died). Typical of agents
who work with younger artists, Adua had, it seemed, hundreds of clients, and
did very little for any of them. Cecilia knew Adua was a dead end; Jack might
be her last chance. Raeburn, Mastroianni, Cecilia and her mother waited for the
pianist, made small talk, and Jack began looking at his watch less and less
discreetly. So, Cecilia played for herself and sang all kinds of things.
Luckily, Jack adored her, loved the timbre of her voice, was impressed by the
velocity and flair of her florid singing and felt any problems could be ironed
out. Above all he recognized that rarest thing, charisma. When she began to
sing, apparent impossibilities evaporated. After telling her that of course
there could be no guarantees, and stardom was probably merely a dream, he
agreed to represent her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">(the late great Edgar Vincent)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Jack knew he’d have to put
himself on the line. He’d built up enormous good will; he was an honest broker
and through his illustrious clients at CAA he knew everybody. But the problem
with a new talent is finding a way to break him or her through the noise of all
that’s going on, in a culture where classical singers were a very hard sell,
and a brand name is apt to matter more than what that brand can deliver. He got
Edgar Vincent a tape. Edgar loved what he heard. He’d been doing the impossible
with classical artists – getting an increasingly small and recalcitrant press
interested in covering them -- since the late thirties, knew everybody in the
arts press and had an invaluable prestige.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">None of these men was naïve;
Cecilia could easily be dead in the water. She’d have to make it
internationally, she hadn’t really clicked in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and never would, she didn’t have a power base, even a
small one that could promote and pay her while they built on whatever exposure
she got. She didn’t have any champions among celebrity conductors; they’d been
hard to get to. Lacking means she hadn’t been able to fund trips to far flung
auditions and Adua was best at getting her into what in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> are called “cattle calls”, with dizzying numbers of
other long shots heard by bored functionaries. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">By taking Bartoli on Vincent,
but especially Mastroianni would be taking big personal risks. Jack was trusted
because when he said someone could deliver he had been right. If he took a hit
from Bartoli it would cost him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But she did click
internationally. Against the odds, the debut CD for Decca that Raeburn produced
-- he forced it through by calling in favors -- sold very well and got great
reviews. Cecilia had a tremendous gift for concerts, unlike most opera singers.
And Jack knew that while it takes time to get opera houses to book a singer for
a leading role, concerts can be much more easily and much more quickly set up. She
had an irresistible personality, adored what she was doing, could learn music
quickly, had a very sharp instinct for programming (helped by her mother) and
in concert halls her voice didn’t seem slight; it was small but not
insubstantial, she knew had to “grade” dynamics, so climactic passages rang
out, soft passages were easily heard and blandishing, and she had an
interesting and even profound grasp of what the words she was singing (always
beautifully pronounced) meant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She was also a great
interview, with an infectious sense of humor, good linguistic ability and a
tangible charm that came over in print, on TV. It’s not that there weren’t
skeptics in those early days, or the occasional dismissive review. It’s that
they didn’t matter. People who paid for their seats adored her. She had the one
quality you can’t buy or fake: uniqueness. Horne had a bigger voice and a less
hedged technique; Von Stade had a beautiful timbre and was irresistible. But
Bartoli was Bartoli; no one thought she was imitating them or even influenced
by them. And wonderful as those two were, Bartoli’s élan, even a touch of
wildness, a willingness to risk, was in some senses a throw back to an earlier
era of singers with huge personalities who were laws unto themselves. One could
complain about the breathy coloratura, the trill might not happen but she was hard
to dislike and impossible to ignore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She became a big name very
quickly, my twin wrote the first big interview with her in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, in Vanity Fair of all places – she’d been hugely
lucky. But for a great career, luck has to keep happening, or ways have to be found
to sustain and build on the early good impression. Many people fizzle quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">2.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Some other memories of Miss
Bartoli flash through my poor twin’s mind. <b><i>The Barber of Seville</i></b> in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Houston</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, another big occasion, and Bartoli’s first stage
appearance in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. Rosina’s entrance aria, “<i>una voce poca fa</i>” began
well but then the supporting mezzo singing the servant Berta, in jail trustee
uniform, strode on and began wiggling her very large body in time to the music,
“guarding” her charge. The audience roared with laughter at her antics. Bartoli
was drowned out and pushed off form by the unexpected laughter. The other
singers, more stage wise than she, arranged their scenes with her so she was
often in less light than they were; her face was hard to make out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There were the usual
congratulations afterwards but Jack suggested they all go to a huge amusement
part near </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Houston</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> the next day. On a dare, Miss Bartoli and my twin
rode a nightmarish roller coaster. She had a good time. My twin threw up. But
over barbeque, my twin, who had had a career in theater talked to Miss Bartoli
about certain things. He suggested she tell the massive Berta that if she did
that again during “<i>una voce poco fa</i>” Miss Bartoli would “get lost” during
Berta’s short aria in the second act and wander on stage, look shocked and
“forget” how to get off stage while the large comprimaria was singing. “Is this
possible?” Asked Miss Bartoli.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">So my twin who had been to an
illustrious but vicious drama school recounted how a fellow student, an actress
who went on to win Oscars and become world famous, had in a certain role pushed
the adorable and tall Sigourney Weaver out of the way and shoved my massive
twin into a chair and sat on him for a speech she intended to give so as to
create a maximum frisson. It wasn’t the first time this beloved icon had kicked
my twin, who had an unhappy habit of getting the giggles. (They threw out half
the class; my twin, there as a playwright and to study music as far as possible, had been pressed into acting). In the first instance, Miss Weaver and my twin
had been screamed at by the entire theater faculty in front of the whole school
for being unprofessional and the icon praised for her genius.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">As for the lighting issue,
Jack was able to arrange for a short rehearsal where the light plot jumped from
scene to scene involving Rosina, while my twin showed Cecilia where she could
stand to maximize her visibility and how to tell she was in the right place
both by eye and by the “feel” of the light on her face. “But when the others
try to make me move?” She asked. My twin gave the obvious answer: “shove that
person once, and he’ll never do it again.” She was wide eyed after this, but
the next performance went much better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My twin recognized something
about Cecilia: she had enormous panache when she felt safe, as she had at that
toney party in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New
York;</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> but when
uncertain, she seemed a shy, almost frightened little girl. As the youngest but most
famous member of a cast of veterans she was automatically a target. Of course,
my twin told her on another occasion when they discussed tactics, it’s always
best to talk to people when there’s a problem, and singers know there are
people whose permission they should get. <b>BUT</b>
when that doesn’t go well and everything is on the line, sheer assertion must
always be the answer. Many females have a hatchet man (sometimes it’s their
husband) who does the threats (</span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Victoria</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> de </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">los Angeles</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">’ husband served this purpose but he took all her
money, too, leaving her broke as her voice began to fade). Generally, my twin’s
notion and indeed his experience had been that when they are terrified of you,
you are likelier to get a readier cooperation and aren’t stuck with a middle
man. But this “double nature” suggested to my twin the results of the tough,
unhappy and at times brutal childhood Cecilia had had. This was only alluded
to, and then occasionally and obliquely. Contrary to stereotype, Italians are
very private and there is much that isn’t shared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSI8g3INmZz-bNo9WyGtstXzLi4Gc7JCwzJlNQvR2mgrckuNGnzQbXBW8T_ql5qJt3Itsp1xdqQaNVp_6NwD5VCmfSSiOZHwMQBJoWW6ptKCdUtjFQUOYF6i9rPqawS-ZzSKHdk31DS3E/s1600/bartoliFigaro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSI8g3INmZz-bNo9WyGtstXzLi4Gc7JCwzJlNQvR2mgrckuNGnzQbXBW8T_ql5qJt3Itsp1xdqQaNVp_6NwD5VCmfSSiOZHwMQBJoWW6ptKCdUtjFQUOYF6i9rPqawS-ZzSKHdk31DS3E/s1600/bartoliFigaro.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Other snap shots came to my
twin. There was the party for Cecilia to which the joke later known as Mr.
9/11, Rudy Guliani, then mayor of </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> was to come. It was raining out and she was very
unhappy. My twin and Cecilia took a long walk in the rain. She cried bitterly.
This was </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">during </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>The Marriage of Figaro</i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> at the Met, where she was singing
Susanna. She had been attacked in an article in the New York Times.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Dr. Jonathan Miller, the
director of record, had told the idiot, James <span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Oestreich</span>,
that Cecilia had come late for rehearsals. But she and most of the cast had arrived
early to be ready to work. Dr. Miller was late. Like all fools and frauds he
had talked in an accent borrowed from the Queen of England but had done
nothing. According to him, Miss Bartoli had been obstructive. But according to
several members of the cast, they had gotten together in rehearsal and
privately to work out scenes about which Dr. Miller had no ideas, with Cecilia a
cheer leader. Dr. Miller also mocked Miss Bartoli for “insisting” on doing the
substitute arias that Mozart had written for Susanna at some performances. But in
reality, someone named James Levine had come up with the idea that it would be
fun to alternate these arias at a few performances, Bartoli had gone along. <em><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Oestreich</span></em> was too stupid, too ignorant about opera, too
impressed with Her Royal Majesty’s accent to check any of the lies Dr. Miller
had told. There were plenty of witnesses who would have gladly refuted him. By
why should the highly paid <em><span style="background: white; color: #444444; font-style: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Oestreich</span></em> do his job?
Why should the New York Times hire a smart person, rather than an idiot pig
(recently laid off with a great package)? Bartoli was desperately hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Well, my twin was puzzled
again. He’d had been attacked in the Times and many other papers. He had gone
into his profession knowing many people who had been viciously treated by
inferior fools. There’s nothing to be
done about it; from somewhere has to come the hardness to salve whatever hurt
results and go on. Cecilia, by then a big star, again seemed vulnerable. My
twin pointed out that at least she was having a success with the audiences and
that had to be her comfort. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">3.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She and my twin talked about
death. Her older brother was dying horribly of cancer, leaving a family behind.
She had spent an enormous amount of money trying to save him. He had encouraged
her, taught her (he was a musician too) and been a protector of the family in
some very hard times. She asked what music she might sing. My twin recommended
<b><i>Ich habe genug </i></b>by Bach, a cantata of leave taking and hope in something better.
They listened to the recording by Hans Hotter. And then had tried it at the
piano – Cecilia had a reasonable command of German. She lasted only a few
measures before fleeing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There had been a few seconds
of naked grief, but it was never mentioned again. Cecilia was older and
becoming tougher. She was facing some career realities. Though she loved doing
concerts, her taste was inclining more and more to the Baroque and Classical,
not the expected repertoire and most thought not commercial. She didn’t feel
all the Rossini roles suited her and she felt her voice was too small for some
roles, her personality wrong for others. Of course, everyone suggested Carmen;
Abbado wanted her to do the Composer in <b><i>Ariadne auf </i></b></span><st1:place><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Naxos</span></i></b></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. But though she could function in German she didn’t feel
comfortable about an entire role. She felt remote from Carmen. She hadn’t been
that happy doing <b><i>La Cenerentola</i></b> at the Met; it had gone well but she felt as
though her personality hadn’t had the impact for which she had hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She loved the idea of doing <b><i>La
Traviata</i></b>. When in the mood she would sing “<i>Sempre libera</i>” in key, sometimes with high E flat. One needed only
to hear her try a few measures of “<i>Addio
dal passato</i>” to understand what she could bring to the role. But by this
time the furies had been unleashed on the Internet, in small publications and
she was subject to vicious attack (not as pornographic as those launched on
another gifted woman, Renee Fleming). “They would crucify me,” she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Pavarotti had gotten
interested in her. They made records of the “Chiedi al’ aura” duet from <b>L’Elisir d’amore </b>and interestingly, the
“</span><span style="font-size: 14.5pt;">Cherry Duet</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">” from </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;">L’Amico Fritz</b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. (I
am not sure but think the Fritz duet never circulated). He wanted to do one of
those operas, or perhaps something similar, at least in the recording studio.
But again, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be exposing herself to maximum attack
for minimal gain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A conductor she liked very
much, the great Nicholas Harnoncourt had become obsessed with doing <b>Aida</b> as it had been done at its world
premiere in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Egypt</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. Apparently there were big differences in the
orchestration; the tuning had been verifiably low as well. He thought Bartoli
should be his Aida. Certainly in a recording studio at the lower tuning, she
could have done the role, bringing dusky erotic warmth, a Latinate quality that
had largely disappeared from the world as fewer Italians emerged to sing these
iconic roles. But Bartoli turned him down finally, and eventually he recorded
the standard version with the vast Vienna Philharmonic and a very light voiced
soprano as Aida (with the other singers typical for their roles).<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In this frustrating period,
Bartoli began to move away from the conventional model of representation. She
was less interested in playing ball with a powerful manager and she got tougher
as a negotiator. Few of the big Italian conductors had been willing to help her
when she needed some promotion, and she was icily unsentimental about
affronting them. She was capable of outmaneuvering commanders of the baton in
pressured situations -- to protect herself, she said -- but to stick it them as
well. In general she grew much less trusting; she wasn’t exactly paranoid but
she knew that in the business there are plenty of people who will give you a
big hug with a knife hidden in one hand, happy to plunge it in your back as
they kissed you on both cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">4.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">After about 2001 much would
change; she would go her own way, facing prophecies of disaster. She reinvented
herself; tours of Baroque arias with a period ensemble looked like sure losers
but concerts sold out and CDs were improbable classical best sellers. She sang
murderously difficult music, much of it unheard for centuries. She displayed a
huge range and sometimes incredible velocity. Her use of “aspiration” in florid
music (audible breaths) was complained of, though it was more evident sometimes
than others. On the Internet and sometimes in print she was attacked mostly by
ignorant fools who never detected the fake outs of their idols and simply made
up calumnies. But the excitement, even hysteria she could create in audiences
hardened her to what was unfair, and she also made peace with the technique she
had developed and its limits. To witness these concerts live was thrilling, and
she never failed to deliver her own sense of excitement in and love of this old
music. She had done a lot of the scholarly work herself, discovering scores,
looking at ornaments as written down by star singers or their pupils. She loved
working as an equal with the small group of musicians (though she was also the
boss!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She became more courageous
about approaching roles that had been usurped by high sopranos noting that
Maria Malibran, the legendary if short lived icon of the bel canto era had
apparently been what we’d call a mezzo soprano (a term that only gradually came
into use) and had sung all the high roles including Amina in Bellini’s <b>Sonnambula</b> and <b>Norma</b>. She studied Malibran’s scores and read everything she could
find that described her sound – dark and complex. She also studied the scores
of another great prima donna, Giudetta Pasta, the creator of Norma, who also
had had apparently a dark, low set voice. The rigid conventions of the late 20<sup>th</sup>
century with assumptions made by people who didn’t take these operas seriously
anyway appeared arguable at least, and very likely, wrong. There were always
the idiots who didn’t read music, knew nothing of history, lacked any artistic
sophistication, the opera fools, queens with mother problems who had cathected
to "Zinka", always sharp, a joke in florid music, ignorant of the deeper meanings
of the text and terrible at pronouncing it or to their own myth of the strange
Maria Callas, locked into the gross distortions of these operas, cut and
rearranged, as they were given in the fifties and sixties. This had nothing to
do with <b>Norma</b> or <b>La Sonnambula</b> or indeed, much of
anything, but the psychosis </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">was </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">accepted as a badge of honor. A great critic like
the late Charles Rosen could shock a reader by seeing and describing the genius
in Bellini, who had after all been a huge influence on many of the “great”
composers of his own time and even later, ranging from Chopin to Richard Wagner
(“<span style="background: white; color: #333333;">long, long, long melodies such
as no one before had written</span></span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt;">".</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">). But the moronic reviewers who should have been
janitors or killed at birth, </span><st1:place><st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">school</span></st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> of </span></st1:place><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Oestreich</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">repeated stale, ignorant
clichés.</span></em><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">5.</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">FINALE</span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Bartoli had grown from that high spirited,
sometimes uncertain girl to a mature artist who felt called to rediscover these
and other operas, easily dismissed, always distorted and she decided to do it
through scholarship, hard work, will and risk.</span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">This ambition too was seen as foolish, even
delusional. But two experiences of Bartoli suggested that maybe she could pull
it off.</span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">One was the Fiordaligi she sang in</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><st1:city><st1:place><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Zurich</span></em></st1:place></st1:city><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">in 2000. Her
performances of this difficult, long and wide ranging role were astonishing.
The house is small and she made it the basis for most of her stage
performances. In the</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;"><b>Cosi fan tutte,</b>
conducted by Harnoncourt she had sung the role with abandon, emotional
fullness, musical insight and a kind of profundity. Her voice sounded beautiful
live and she had no trouble with the extremes of the role. She had the humor
for the</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">opera seria</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">send up of</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Come scoglio</span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span></i><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">in act one; but in act
two, the more difficult</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Per pieta</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">was sung with endless
longing, need, a desire to be loved that was devastating. Fiordaligi’s dilemma,
perhaps not entirely serious, self contradictory, became for that aria as she
sang it, the dilemma of all humans who long for love but can’t understand where
to find it, how to achieve it. The audience wouldn’t breathe during her
performance, and then would erupt in an explosion – not only of enthusiasm for
her – but of shared understanding.</span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">But perhaps more relevant to</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Norma</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">was a performance I saw
in</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><st1:city><st1:place><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">London</span></em></st1:place></st1:city><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">in the late 90’s of </span></em><span style="font-size: 19px;">Amina</span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">’s opening scene from</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">La Sonnambula. She hoped
to sing the opera and it was to be mounted for her at the Met. The tenor was to
be Ramon Vargas. She knew it was a big risk but she was willing to take it. But
Vargas had a terrible personal tragedy and withdrew. The Met cast an unknown
tenor who Bartoli had never heard and she withdrew, perhaps forever from staged
opera in</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><st1:country-region><st1:place><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">America</span></em></st1:place></st1:country-region><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">.</span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">The</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><st1:city><st1:place><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">London</span></em></st1:place></st1:city><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">“Sovra al sen”</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">conducted by </span></em><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Neville Marriner </span></em><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">had been a test. It was a revelation. I have a CD made live </span></em><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">and it is on You tube; </span></em><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">it
remains breathtaking. </span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;"><br /></span></em></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/zll3zrRZLCM?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;"><br /></span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">She had gone back to the autograph and she had projected
her voice into a big hall. In recitative, slow section and contrasting fast
section she had worked hard to project a young girl, on the eve of her marriage
to the man she loves. Amina was a simple, almost childlike being, naïve,
“romantic” and in that fast section ecstatic. In the slow “Sovra al sen” she
had sung the way one might have played Chopin. </span></em><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Marriner</span></em><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;"> followed her perfectly as
she used an agogic (rhythmic) technique to bring the melody to life. Now, she
would be slightly ahead of the beat, then, slightly behind; she used a
perfectly judged but apparently spontaneous rubato – deliberately staying
behind for this phrase and then, subtly catching up. She felt the shape of the
melody fully. What sounds a very pretty tune usually, became exquisitely,
shockingly, strangely beautiful; the eagerness, the sudden shyness, the touch
of fear of a simple girl was all there in the way Bellini had lovingly shaped
his melody on the words. It was an</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">endless</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">instant, opera itself,
in the way an entire personality, endearing, vulnerable, at risk was exposed.
Then, in the fast section there had been a wild abandon achieved without
sacrificing the elegance the style requires. The shock of this music,
apparently simple and to the opera lovers present surely over familiar, was
something new, and the audience exploded at the end into an enormous,
prolonged, stamping ovation. Bartoli had captured the magic of music that had
once enchanted the world, and which had been something new, for Bellini was
inventing romanticism, taking a risk, just as Cecilia Bartoli was.</span></em></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<st1:place><st1:placename><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Some years later she would make a complete
recording of</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">La Sonnambula</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">and now she has recorded</span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;">Norma. Next time the
widder will consider those recordings. </span></em></st1:placename></st1:place><br />
<st1:place><st1:placename><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;"><br /></span></em></st1:placename></st1:place>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<st1:place><st1:placename><em><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal;"><br /></span></em></st1:placename></st1:place></div>
Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-86337822619400835312013-05-17T07:56:00.000-07:002013-05-17T15:13:37.254-07:00TEBALDI AND FORZA AT LA SCALA '99 PART 11<br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">FORZA AT LA SCALA, PART 11; TEBALDI AND OTHERS. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">part one is below.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Piazza Guastalla, where Renata Tebaldi
resided, is a short walk from La Scala. Like most upper-class apartment blocks
in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">, it's really a fortress, with a high
iron fence and no indication of who lives where. Once the right building is
found, there are no names on the buzzer. I contrive a way into the dark,
elegant lobby, and a little old lady with a mean twinkle in her eye totters
out, her finger on an alarm device. I tell her that Madame Tebaldi is expecting
me. She looks me up and down doubtfully, then retreats into a cubicle without a
word and locks the door behind her. After a moment, a panel is shoved aside,
and directions are barked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Ernestina Vigano, Tebaldi's longtime
factotum (factota?), opens the door, and the poodle, New IV, the king of the
household, welcomes me. Tebaldi appears with a Coke on ice, and we all settle
down for a good dish session. “Renata” has to have been the sweetest person
ever to be a world-famous opera singer. Or at least the sweetest Italian. Perhaps
she had more obvious drive in her youth, and I’m sure she could be tough when
that was necessary. Rudolf Bing famously said that she had “dimples of iron”.
Yet, having seen her fairly often over a long time, I have a hard time
remembering any cattiness or anger. She thought some people were silly, and
others, pretentious, but she had a deep well of empathy in her. Empathy is not
a quality that most performers, especially very famous ones, have. On this
occasion she still was remarkably youthful, beautiful and very, very tall – for
an Italian. She once told me that when she was young and would walk through </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">, people would stop and applaud. “Why
are you applauding?” She would ask, this was before she was famous, “God bless
your mother and father,” they would say, “you are so tall!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">This visit, Tebaldi has seemed rather
sad, and I’ve heard she hasn’t been entirely well. She’s had tax problems and
having been less canonized while still alive than say, Maria Callas, her
royalties have fallen off, though in fact when they were both singing, Tebaldi
was the bigger seller. On this occasion, Tebaldi tells a story of a recent
visitor who brought CDs for her to sign, including one called "The
Beautiful Voice." The beautiful voice in question belonged to another
soprano. "Can you imagine?" Tebaldi says. "They wanted me to
sign someone else's CD. I said 'Why?' 'Well, you too had a beautiful voice,'
they said. “Perhaps I did. But it was my beautiful voice, not this beautiful
voice. I think there might be a difference, no? I said, perhaps you should have
this singer sign her own CD.” But her smile was irresistible, she really was
more amused than affronted, and noticing my figure, she commanded, “you have to
have some of Tina's biscuits!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Tina, who has a bad hip, hobbles off to
the kitchen. New IV rubs against me as Tebaldi asks, "Tell me, how is
Carol?" Carol? "La Burnett. She teach me English. Not because she
want to. But when I was singing so often in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> I watched her television show over and
over. That's how I learned to speak -- and to laugh. We are all ridiculous a
lot of the time, no? She is great -- a great artist!" I later told Carol
this story (she’s a close friend of a close friend) and she refused to believe
me. She was not an opera obsessive but Tebaldi had been one of her favorites in
opera. “That’s the worst part of this business,” Carol had said, “the people
you could have met, and didn’t meet thinking they wouldn’t know who the hell
you were!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Tina is back, the biscuits are
delicious, and we talk of the dead: Terence McEwen, the late London Records
executive and Tebaldi's close friend. "I call him and call him, but you
know, he asked me not to after a while. 'It is too painful, Renata,' he said.
'The old days, I can't bear to think of them. I don't even want to listen to
music anymore.' "But you must, Terry,' I told him. 'You must listen to
Mozart, to Bach, no voices' -- proof that people on earth matter and are more
than things that will die. And we have a choice. We can regret the past, regret
that it is past, or we can enjoy it. Oh, our times were so wonderful! They can
comfort us. This little word, 'over,' does not mean the great things never
happened. And that, too, proves we matter, just a little. But no - he would not
be comforted."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">We discuss Maestro Muti. Tebaldi and
Tina cluck over the very choice of Forza. Tebaldi recalls her own Forza
nightmare, in 1960, when Leonard Warren collapsed and died after singing the “Urna
fatale” aria.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"I was in my dressing room, and the
whole house shook. I thought there was an earthquake and went running. But no,
he had fallen. The priest ran past me. And Richard [Tucker] was crying. It was
so awful! That, too, is Forza. I have always prayed for him, that he was able
to see the priest and have that comfort. But I am not sure, and I am sad for
him. I never was happy singing that opera after that. But maybe Maestro [Muti]
will make a difference in our Forza. In my time, we had the great conductors,
but they had us, after all. Toscanini even said, 'I need your voice' - not just
to me, to everyone. He said it to Pertile, to Merli, to La Favero, to Cesare
[Siepi], who was so young- 'I need your voice. Verdi needs your voices.' Now
there are no voices for these operas.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"I would not go [to La Scala] for a
time. They would applaud me more than the singers [onstage]. I didn't want
that. It is their time. I want to hear cheering and excitement for somebody
young.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Then I watched Maestro Muti rehearse, I
saw his performances -- the Rigoletto, some Traviatas, the Macbeth. No, it was
not what we had. But he did make the music vibrate and the soul shine. I love
him, because music is his entire life. It was my entire life as well. It is not
just the profession he is good at - he loves it. And I think that helps when
they can't sing so well. I remember Maestro Mitropoulos -- a great man -
conducted Forza with Mario [Del Monaco] and me, it was life on the stage; not,
OK, I made some noise, now pay me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Tina remarks, “Didn’t he do it in Vienna,
with la Stella? And then he died. Just fell over! Poverino!!!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Was it <b><i>right </i></b>after?” Asks
Tebaldi. “Ma, no, I think it was later … a month? I am not sure…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Didn't La Stella start to have
trouble after that?" wonders Tina, still focused on the Forza curse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"No, I don't think so," says
Tebaldi, "but maybe. She is a very distinguished artist. Maestro Muti gave
me his recording of Verdi - that one about the Hun who kills everybody [Attila].
I think that was late for La Stella. He was a baby then. [The
"pirate" recording is from 1970.] She is OK there.” She laughs. “You
know, you don't have to be Greek to sing Verdi."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">After that sly dig at Madame Callas and
another story or two, Tina returns to Forza. "I think the curse of Forza
haunted La Stella after that. La Stella and Franco [Corelli] had that fight,
and I think also she and Pippo [Di Stefano] fought."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Ma Tina! That is the curse of tenors,
not of Forza. It is different kind of curse. You just breathe garlic on them
when they have to sing a high note, and the curse go away. You can put the
olive oil in the water and everything else the witches do, and Forza will still
get you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The old stories are told - how men used
to come to Tebaldi's dressing rooms all over the world with diamond rings,
wanting to marry her; how audiences wouldn't leave her concerts. "But that
is justice," says Tina, "because you were from God." She turns
to me. "I was about to marry. But just before, I went with Renata to </span><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">South America</span></st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">. When we came back, she said she would
sing at my wedding. But no, I said, 'I will stay with you.' And Renata said,
'But you will be lonely, you will not have a family.' And I said, 'I will have
your voice, and I will help you bring God's beauty to the whole world.' I am
old now, and sometimes I have been lonely, and I have been sick, but I have
never once regretted it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Tebaldi cuddles New IV and shakes her
head at me. "They say I was the voice of an angel - that Toscanini said
that. He didn't. He said at that section in Verdi's Requiem I had to sound like
an angel, and maybe with God's help I could. But it's true I had the sound, and
it moved people. I worked hard, although I never had real lessons for years the
way they do today. I think today they have all these lessons, and then they
forget what they are taught. I would have remembered. Or maybe not, who knows?
But my voice, it was from God. I felt that. Sometimes He sang through me.” But
she shook her head. “We all say that, I think. I am sure if you go and see any
of the old singers here in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> they will say that. And what if it is
true, some way? You know, God makes us pay for His gifts. I have paid Him a
lot. I have paid and paid with my life. I praise Him. But sometimes, I pray,
please, I would like to stop paying. Because that's what life is at my age,
paying God for what He gave you. And my bill is walking in the graveyard. Not
only are my friends buried there, but my enemies -- and, you know, I miss them.
Oh, they said I hated Maria. Well, I didn’t like that those snakes that breed
in the theater chose her at Scala, and laughed that they had driven me out into
the cold.” Tina’s face has become hard and her eyes are wide with anger.
Tebaldi glances at her and continues. “But they simply drove me into the warmth
of the Metropolitan, so it was OK. And I pray for Maria; she was not bad. There
are many who say she this nasty, this hard woman. She was not. I meet her I
think the day she arrive here in Italy or maybe a few days later, and you know
--- and look, your coke will be warm and you need more biscuits, I will get
them, Tina.” Tebaldi adds ice, coca-cola and cookies to my portion and settles
down. “Well, those old times, and we chatter … but I will tell you, I felt very
cold when I meet her. You know? </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Verona</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">, and the summer, and the heat and I
felt cold. It is strange, but I thought, whatever her fate as a singer, and
none of us knew who would succeed, we were that young, but whatever her
destiny, there will be more sadness than anyone should suffer. I think that was
– the word is premonition? Well, in suffering as she did, sadly, she was not
the only one and she is remembered so well. I can tell so many stories about
the forgotten great ones, such a terrible fate in this world. But forgotten or
still famous they are in the graveyard. You know, I am afraid opera is buried
there, too."<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Going into the company dress rehearsal,
to which all the workers at La Scala can invite their families, I pass Leyla
Gencer. She is standing outside the stage door dressed entirely in black, with
her black hair piled very high, watching everybody go in. I recall her prediction
as she pats me affectionately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"You are getting sicker," she
says sweetly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"I have a fever and aches and
pains."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"We all do, and it will get worse.
Look at them all go in. It's like they are going into a funeral. Povero
Maestro, how he is suffering. The corpse is Verdi's. He takes that personally.
It would be better if he were like all the other conductors today. Take the
fee, cash the check quickly and get out of town. But he suffers. And tonight,
watch out. It will be like the French Revolution." She makes the sign
against the evil eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Inside, Muti is suffering through an
audition that somebody has ambushed him with. No one on the staff knows how
this has happened. But Muti lets the poor singer, who is dying of nerves, go on
and on. In the pit, somebody is playing Bellini as if it were
"Chopsticks" and still hitting the wrong notes. The only sign Muti
gives is to shield his eyes, like an Indian brave in an old Western, and peer
into the pit. He is wonderful to the singer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"He will make a good shoemaker,"
one of the staff says of the auditioner. He is enraged at whoever got around
every bit of security and broke union rules to get this singer onstage and
somebody not on staff into the pit to play the piano. All of that could cause a
walk-out by the theater security, the theater maintenance people, the orchestra
and everybody else for good measure, since striking in sympathy is a national
pastime in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">. That strikes me as rather an extreme
reaction to the poor man who has just sweated off twenty pounds, as well as his
sense of pitch. "Don't you understand?” The staff member hisses at me. “He
is on the set of Forza. What if he has the evil eye?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti looks terrible. "I went to my
brother's for comfort. But I paced all day. I am sorry, but this is very unhappy."
He runs off to his office. Paolo Arca explains to me that besides the company
guests, about 1,000 students are expected. They have come to some other
rehearsals in the theater, and different groups will be at all the dress
rehearsals. "This is new here," Arca allows. "We reach out. We
had a million of them come last year. Everyone talks them through every stage
of the opera. This year, Simionato told them all about Forza and even sang a
little Preziosilla. They loved her. They asked her if she rapped. 'Sure,' she
said, 'and she rapped one of the big boys on the back of the head.'"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Unfortunately, Muti has just closed the
rehearsal. He wants every door locked and security at every entrance. (There
are about a hundred everybody knows of, and probably a thousand all told. Muti
knows them all and has ordered guards everywhere.) But there is a problem. The
students have already been bused in and are outside in the piazza. Though it's
opera, and it's an easy bet none of them really wanted to come, this is </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">. Any reason to riot is seized on
avidly, and Arca is worried. That is what Gencer meant about the French
Revolution.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Suddenly there are noises in the pit. We
run down. The orchestra is striking. They have just got word that Muti has
closed the rehearsal to their families and friends. There is no fury like that
of an orchestra that feels dissed. Here, the rage is boiling over. Maestro Arca
runs into the pit to see if he can calm them. Muti is in his office, being
reasoned with by Carlo Fontana. The shadowy old men are hovering in an alcove,
looking ready for insurgency. We hear the students chanting outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">A man somehow connected to Giorgio
Zancanaro runs in, in total panic. "I must see Maestro," he cries on
his way down the aisle. I tell him Muti is in his office, but I would bet this
is not the best time to interrupt. "Don't you understand? This is about his
death!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">By now security is at all the entrances,
and this poor man can't get backstage. For once, my pass from Dottor Fontana
works, and they let me lead him back, though I am becoming rather frightened at
all the noise and running around; the chorus, milling about wondering whether
to strike in sympathy with the orchestra, blocks our path for a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The man runs headlong into Muti's
office. That is a very unwise thing to do. Muti is there with Alberto Triola,
confronting Dottor Fontana and a factotum of his. </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> is sweating profusely. They are all
purple except Muti, who is deathly white and whose eyes have devoured his face.
Dottor Triola is hanging on to him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Zancanaro is gone!" cries the
man. Well, that is at least a conversation stopper. In this instance, I think
it stopped a capital crime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nucci is back in the hospital. As part
of his treatment, he has had to have a painful injection in the muscle of his
leg. He must spend the night in the hospital, and it's not clear whether he
will be able to sing the remaining dress rehearsals -- or the opening.
Zancanaro, singing another engagement, was alerted and sped to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> this afternoon. Unfortunately, he
plowed into another car. He may be dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">'s factotum runs out of the room. He
will speed-dial other theaters and agents to see who they can get. They've done
this all week trying to find a Leonora. Among others, they've tried Michele
Crider, who is at the Met in Trovatore, and Maria Guleghina, who is in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Paris</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">. Neither can make it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Of course not," I am told by
someone at another opera house. "First of all, who wants to face a
first-night audience at La Scala? Secondly, [the Scala people] never do anybody
any favors, so everybody hates them. Why should a theater release somebody it
needs to help La Scala? Besides, there are no A-level Verdi voices in the
world, and only two or three B-levels. If you've got one of them, you hang on
for dear life."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The door to Muti's office is closed. I
am still wondering whether Zancanaro is dead, which doesn't seem to concern
anybody else. I ask one of the weird old men hovering in the shadows what he
knows. "He is in a cast from the neck down. I don't think it will harm his
voice, but he won't be doing Forza here."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">Wondering whether there will be a
performance at all, I go back up the treacherous stairs. There is Maestro Muti,
sitting alone on a wooden box. I decide it's not appropriate to ask about
everything that has happened. "Would you like to go to the bowels of La
Scala?" he asks. "I will be your Virgil." He leads me through
hidden doors, and we are behind the stage. He stops beside two ancient columns.
They are all that is left of the original church that stood on this spot. He
kisses them. "They are really beautiful. And they have guarded us, I
think, for all these years. Soon they will be gone." He sees his old
buddy, Maestro Montanari, conductor of the stage, and we descend.</span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The stage was designed by Nicola Benois
in 1937. He used the same plans that had been in effect for fifty years,
updating them to the standard of that time. There are massive hydraulic lifts,
where water is pumped through pipes to raise segments of the stage. There are
seven segments that can be raised and lowered to create levels onstage or
function as traps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The huge stage crew has specialists who
turn wheels at the end of each segment. These release and control the water to
achieve the right height. Since this movement often happens during music, in a
scene or during an interlude with the curtain open, these men are conducted.
They watch Maestro Montanari, who gives Muti's beat and phrasing to the crew.
They turn their wheels and the segments rise in time to the music. A wonderful
man demonstrates how all this works, even though he is on break. "I love
this theater. My father and his father worked here. And Maestro Muti is my
maestro," he says, without any self-consciousness. I ask his name.
"Just say I am a member of the backstage at La Scala. That is enough for
me.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti leads me further down into the
viscera of La Scala's stage. Here is a gorgeous web of pipes: old-fashioned
theater construction. I'm not sure bombs could have destroyed this. It is steel
and iron, beautifully wrought, fitted and profoundly functional. "We can
create entire worlds with all of this," says Muti. "Better worlds
than the one outside. And, you know, only people can do it. Everything down
here - all the levers, all the lifts, all the wires - they must be worked by
hand. A person makes each little miracle happen. That is what art is. A heart
beats, and everything beats to that heart. If the heart stops, the art stops. "Now
I am told we must have a new theater. I am sure we must. This is so expensive,
and we need too many men to do even simple things. So we will have a new stage,
where a button can be pressed and presto! - it all happens without people. Is
that progress, or is that death? I don't know."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">There is something in the air down here.
It's amazingly clear and clean, and there is a warm wrap-around of silence. It
isn't eerie at all, it's theater. Muti sees me listening. "Ah, the
ghosts," he smiles. "Our ghosts are very quiet. The new theater will
bury them for good. I am not sure they are always well-behaved, our ghosts.
Look at this Forza. But they are ours, and they love what we love.... Do you
hear that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">There is a little wisp of sound, and a
small shadow seems to flit over us. A certain peace invades us. "I think
that was [Aureliano] Pertile. He is around once in a while." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">This ectoplasmic encounter awakes an old
memory in Muti. "You know, when I was very young I conducted the Vienna
Philharmonic for the first time. I was very scared, but I did it." Muti
was right to be scared. I saw him, as a mature man and a famous conductor,
dealing with the </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Vienna</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> ensemble in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">. Though they love him and have signed
contracts with him for years into the future, they are cold, fierce and
perverse. The night Yehudi Menuhin died, they had a dust-up with Muti over a
last-minute musical tribute. He thought getting through something on a wing and
a prayer was less of an homage to Menuhin, whom he knew well, than giving a
well-prepared performance of the scheduled but light-hearted Schubert Third
Symphony. Muti stood his ground and won - sort of. The players glared at him
with a killing hatred all through the Schubert. So I can just imagine the still
adolescent-looking Italian twenty-four-year-old, standing in front of that
group.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Naturally, I said what every green
conductor says to an orchestra," Muti continues with a self-mocking grin -
"'Sing!' But all music-making is based on the mechanism of singing, which
is breath through a phrase. So they asked me what I meant. I said, 'If you have
time, please listen to a singer -- but this is probably a singer none of you
know. His name was Pertile. You must listen to him in the Improvviso from
Andrea Chenier, and then you will know what I mean by singing. There are many
small sections there, and he realizes them all. He has every kind of color and
intense emotion, but he makes it all into one long line, inevitable. One phrase
is drawn into another with intense, sublime tension. That is singing."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti laughs. "Can you imagine a kid
telling them that? Not somebody they knew of -- Callas, or one of their famous
singers -- but an Italian, Pertile. And not our Verdi or their Wagner, but
Giordano, of all people. I realized after I said it that I probably had killed
my chances with them. But a little later a few of them were talking with me,
and they said, 'Maestro, we like you. You are a great musician of course, but
we have many of those. You are a little crazy, we have lots of those. But we
listened to this Pertile. You were right. You knew what you were talking about.
We don't have many of those."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Suddenly, there is a lot of screaming
from above. Something is going on, and we are recalled to reality. "Ah,
Maestro Pertile," says Muti to the air, "you have let me down this
time. I have to go back to hell!"<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Everything is apparently settled. The
orchestra has compromised by protesting officially, rather than striking.
Maestro (or someone) has compromised, because a small number of family members
will be let in. The third baritone is in the wings, getting tips on the staging
from a haggard De Ana. "That's a singer?" I ask of no one in
particular. I've seen this decidedly scruffy, very shy young man around and
thought maybe he was a janitor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Non preoccupatevi," snarls </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">, "non ha i coglioni per La Scala.
[Don’t worry he doesn’t have the balls for La Scala]".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Still and all, the chorus smiles at
Muti; the orchestra does too, when he walks into the pit. He gives the downbeat
for the start of the overture. The third trombonist throws up. Muti decides to
keep going. The orchestra protests. One of their number is sick and can't be
ignored. Muti runs to his dressing room, and the house lights come on as the
orchestra moves away from the spewing trombonist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The orchestra protest is settled when
Maestro agrees to wait for the other third trombonist, who lives in the
suburbs. The students in the boxes are having a lot of fun with spitballs.
Their teachers discipline them Italian-style: they scream from far away and
have no effect whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Onstage, Lukacs, not yet in costume (has
she sensed all this would happen?), is stomping around in thick Slavic boots,
looking for nails. She is rather a frightening figure. A plumper, bigger-eyed
creature is watching her: Ines Salazar. A penny for her thoughts. Jose Cura is
also in the wings, coughing. He coughs louder than he sings. Whenever somebody
in a suit comes near, his coughing grows Wagnerian. I am beginning to wonder if
this dress rehearsal will happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Eventually, it does. Lukacs wails more
than ever. Cura cancels, and Licitra sings. When he comes on in the last act,
someone has put gray powder in his long, flowing hair. In his monk's costume,
he reminds me of the bearded lady from the circus. His appearance causes a riot
among the young spectators. Various names are called out, but the consensus is
that he looks like "Meat-a-loaf." Muti runs to his dressing room. The
students are disciplined as before. </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> and Arca simultaneously clasp their
hands and implore God's mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Well, it's not the worst thing
that has happened tonight," says Tebaldi. She's right. Though the baritone
castrated or not isn't half bad, he and Licitra are poorly matched in their
duets. Not only does Licitra drown him out, but the baritone keeps tripping on
props, which throws Licitra off and confuses the clump of mimes who are
everywhere onstage. He runs into a bunch of them, and, surprised, they all
collapse in a very noisy un mime-like heap. "Good! They deserve it,"
screams Muti, who has taken repeated exception to the way they mug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The Melitone who is well enough to walk
has no voice, so Muti sings his part. Giacomo Prestia, the first Guardiano,
forgets all his words, then loses his voice in the middle of the convent scene.
Muti sings his part too, while Papi gets into costume.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Meanwhile, Licitra -- being Sicilian and
a tenor - is ready to murder somebody. In fact, a number of men are screaming
backstage. It doesn't seem wise to inquire just who is screaming what. But I
suspect La Scala has made a lot of converts to opera; the students have had the
time of their lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">A few days later, the absolutely final
dress rehearsal goes better, though Cura seems underprepared. Muti keeps
changing his beat in the hopes of helping the tenor, but Cura seems disinclined
to look in Muti's direction. Nucci has returned. Limping and in pain from the
muscle injection, he does all his business and sings full out. Lukacs has
actually begun to absorb Muti's coaching, and she achieves distinction here and
there. D'Intino is quite a good Preziosilla. She and Nucci make sense of their
parts, and the orchestra and chorus are wonderful. [And even Zancanaro has not
been badly injured].<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The atmosphere of the first night is
ferocious. The "Sindacato Nazionale Autonomo Artisti Lirici" (SNAAL
for short) is forcing incendiary leaflets into everyone's hand. They viciously
attack De Ana for taking work from native Italians and not paying taxes in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">, though he works prominently in the
country. In the handout, a section is underlined: "If the best is not
Italian, he may be hired. But De Ana is the worst. Not the best." Next,
the "organo ufficiale degli artistici lirici" is thrust in one's
pockets. This is a glossy small magazine full of "news stories." They
all happen to be rabidly nationalistic and rather fascist in tone. On the back
of the glossy is a full picture of Nello Santi; it is implied that he, not
Muti, should be running La Scala. Inside, there is a huge picture of Italian
tenor Lando Bartolini, who, says the glossy, should be singing all the major
roles at La Scala. </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">, fumes the "organo," has been
"colonized" by foreign orchestras -- piddling bands like the Vienna
Philharmonic, thanks to Muti, and the Israel Philharmonic, thanks to Mehta, who
isn't even Italian but "runs" </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Florence</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">. Abbado has dared to bring the Berlin
Philharmonic, and Sinopoli has had the nerve to make his career mainly abroad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Quotes from famous people are taken out
of context and mocked. Yet the concerns in the gazette are understandable to a
degree. Declining subsidies have put many Italian artists out of work and
endangered many theaters, orchestras and chamber societies. "The new
system" looks to the writers of this gazette even more corrupt than the
old one. "It was very bad in the old days, but it was alive. Now it is
just as bad, and opera is dead," is a refrain in the paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Though it's hard to know how trustworthy
the reporting is, there are some chilling stories of critics of this system
(artists, conductors) finding themselves unemployable. The occasional story of
deliberately set fires (some years ago in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Bari</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">), or suddenly cancelled performances
because money has changed hands, carries conviction, offering too much detail
to be laughed off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Reading the pamphlets points up the
prevalent hatred of foreigners. The accident of the American fighter jet that
severed a ski-lift cable in 1998 is used as a symbol for the
"internationalizing" of Italian art, which, in the eyes of these
writers, has led to its demise. It's a position that could be argued, but the
incendiary tone of the articles makes one wonder if the booing of Renee Fleming
at 1998's Lucrezia Borgia was motivated by nationalism and frustration, and not
a theater cabal.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEito0cNYHfNmDPB-T0caC0pRNbyG4wuFgr9beYufPNMkp199W4UlqVnEOiqJQ6bCwxQy5ZtnrSMwXSs9mB36We3QJvcLBi4FTixvXyeCVmyRaks-ASynCl5sjJfnQGjMJg4qEgF4d1SeOHS/s1600/three-graces-maschere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEito0cNYHfNmDPB-T0caC0pRNbyG4wuFgr9beYufPNMkp199W4UlqVnEOiqJQ6bCwxQy5ZtnrSMwXSs9mB36We3QJvcLBi4FTixvXyeCVmyRaks-ASynCl5sjJfnQGjMJg4qEgF4d1SeOHS/s1600/three-graces-maschere.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Inside, La Scala looks different than it
once did. The ushers (called mascherine) still have keys, but they wear a
modified costume in place of the tights and frills of the past. There are girl
ushers, prettier than the boys. There are also some older men; my memory from
years past was of an army of corrupt cherubs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">I once had an enjoyable evening at a
performance to which I did not have a ticket, thanks to a delightful
"mascherino" who was studying to be a judge by day and running the
"theater Mafia" (his term) by night. He had organized every level so
that all the ushers did his bidding and met at a parking lot some distance away
to share the booty of an evening's work. Naturally, these people wanted to see
your money, not your ticket stub, and they rarely cared where you sat or what
you did. The mascherine now are actually helpful in finding one's seat. Some of
them will even hand you a program.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The climb to the loggione, all the way
upstairs, is long. The top gallery has a bench around the curved back wall.
Then there are steep banks of narrow seats. Some of these are numbered and sold
at the box office. Some can be taken on a first-come, first-- served basis.
There have been changes up here, too. Policemen, firemen and ushers patrol the
area, looking sharply at suspected troublemakers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">It is jammed and very hot. The mix of
people is broader than I remember. There are many Asians and Slavs. There are
still some extremely elegant young fops with marcelled hair and canes, there
are young blades with mustaches Verdi would have envied. There are also many
older people of both sexes, who have stood or sat in this gallery for years, so
there are feuds that date back to Callas and Tebaldi. And there's a consensus
that nothing that happens in the house matters anymore. It’s no wonder that
Muti has insisted there be no equivalent to the Loggione in the new theater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">La Scala staffers do not get tickets, so
they stand up here. So do all the second-cast singers and covers. Ines Salazar,
rejected by Muti to sing Leonora on opening night, is also here, bracing
herself against the back wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti gets reasonable applause, and the orchestra
sounds live and wonderful. But the voices don't carry well. Lukacs is whistled
from the start. Cura is hooted and jeered (from all over the theater) at his
entrance. There is no applause during the inn scene. But the hissing starts and
grows during the convent scene. Muti looks around sharply, left, then right,
and quells it. The act ends with a smattering of applause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Between acts, the fights start --
generally over just how bad it was. "You don't know what you're talking
about. This was the worst Forza in history, and, yes, I saw Cavalli scream,
too. She screamed better."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"This tenor is horrible, a
fraud."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Some people are howling Lukacs' name and
cursing her. "Give her a chance," says one listener.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"No! It was supposed to be La
Salazar, and she would have been better. This woman is a disgrace to La
Scala."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Salazar has come and stood beside me for
this conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"La Salazar might have been just as
bad," continues Lukacs' defender. "Anyway, she is sick. What were
they to do?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"La Salazar is not sick!"
insists the protestor. "Muti only wants bad singers. He rented this truck,
Lukacs. Salazar is wonderful!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"You've never heard or seen
her!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"I am her fan!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Would you like me to introduce
you?" I ask Salazar, aside. She runs out of the loggione.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">D'Intino and Nucci get some applause in
Act II. Cura is hooted after his aria. He shoots infuriated looks in the
direction of the yellers. Muti starts up over the noise. It continues. He turns
around on the podium and the audience is suddenly quiet. It's one thing to
conduct the savage Vienna Philharmonic. It's quite another to conduct a hostile
Italian audience. I am very impressed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Luckily, Muti does a thrilling job with
"Rataplan," which gets the night's first genuine, if modest,
applause. Audience discontent mounts during a very long intermission. My guess
is that some pressure is being placed on Cura to finish the performance --
after all, it is being taped by RAI. One reason for the police presence is the
Fleming Lucrezia Borgia scandal. RAI was furious at the resulting broadcast,
and they have told La Scala they will reconsider their broadcasting commitment
if the tape is ruined by noises during the performance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">An old man I know by sight from other
visits to La Scala comes over and chats with me. "What's the point?"
the old-timer says. "Nowadays their anger is a ritual. You could hate
Callas -- I did. I thought she was a fraud. But you could love her, too. She
was that strong. And Corelli -- an idiot, but a tenor. And Stella - a screamer,
but a personality. And Simionato! She was a wild personality, even as
Preziosilla. Now all they do is go through the motions onstage. All these
people arguing are going through the motions in the loggione. Oh, we carried
on, but we came out of love. Now, it's a duty. And in five years?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">In Act III, Lukacs follows Muti's
phrasing exactly and really isn't so bad. Cura walks through the act. Nucci
continues to be the most vivid performer. At the end, there are three group
calls -- no solos. The audience is calling for solos so they can massacre the
artists one by one. Someone (</span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">, I am told) has forbidden solo calls.
After the third bow, the iron curtain comes down, and the house lights come on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The intermission grousing was nothing to
the riot this provokes. Horrific screaming erupts all over the theater. The RAI
broadcast booth is besieged by protesters. Muti has trampled on their right to
express rage at this disgrace. Everybody on every level is yelling. Older,
elegant people in the platea (the orchestra, in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">) are yelling upward. Men and women are
hanging out of the boxes, screaming downward or across. The disturbance is led
by two men with immense voices, hanging out of a box on the left of the
theater, who start yelling insults at Cura and Muti.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Cura, come out and face us! Muti
is a dictator, but you are worse, Cura - you are a coward!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">This is taken up as a mantra around the
theater. But others start calling for it to stop. "Isn't it bad enough the
performance was terrible?" belts an old lady with a huge voice from the
platea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Muti has betrayed Italian
art!" comes back. This gets some applause. But there is wild disagreement.
"You can't blame him because there are no singers around today!"
somebody yells. Names are shouted back. The friction builds into inchoate
screams, fist-making and program-throwing. Though it seems everybody hated the
performance, they fight over who is to blame. The major scapegoat is Cura, with
Muti a close second and some people doing unkind imitations of Lukacs. The two
men in the box, though, are the most insulting. At last, an old lady right in
front of me has had enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"Shame on you!" she screams at
these two men. She, too, has an immense voice. (Why aren't these people
singing?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"I bought my ticket, and I have a
right to protest," comes the reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">"You didn't buy your ticket,"
the nonna screams back. "You screwed an usher, and he took pity on you and
let you in!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Everyone in the loggione runs to the
front, nearly pushing this old lady and me over the rail. Fights break out. The
Asian contingent is huddled in a group, terrified. Policemen are everywhere,
but they make no effort to stop anything. The old lady has thrown her opera
glasses at the two men, one of whom hurls something back; it falls short,
landing on the people in the platea. This raises a ferocious cry from below,
leading people upstairs to spit over the side. After dutiful fist-shaking under
open programs, the downstairs audience flees. Up above, fistfights have broken
out. The old lady and several men who seem to be with her are climbing over
people to get to the two loud men. One of the staff grabs me. "Maestro
wants to see you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The catcalls, boos and insults continue
as people leave the theater, and going downstairs is risky, because people are
lashing out. Navigating the crowded hallway that leads backstage, we encounter
people lined up at the coat check, shoving and fighting. They are not inclined
to make way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Backstage, Muti looks exhausted and
ghostly pale. "I am sorry you had to see this," he says; for a
moment, he seems on the brink of tears. "I tried to bring them a
performance. We don't have the great singers anymore, but there is still music.
I tried to bring them the music. It's there, and it works."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">We can still hear the insults and things
being thrown against the curtain, but the hysteria is dissipating. "Those
two men doing all the screaming have a radio show," says Muti. "They
call it 'Barcaccia.' One is a failed tenor. On their program, they lie about us
all. They are the ringleaders. But the audience, they have no respect -- none
for me or the theater or the orchestra and chorus, none for Verdi."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">His police escort arrives. With them are
several elderly British lords and ladies who are Muti's friends. They are all
going to be hustled out one of the many secret exits, so they won't be
accosted. "He is doing that because of his guests," someone explains.
"Usually he goes out the stage exit and lets them insult him. It's part of
his job."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Even Toscanini had a fiasco with Forza.
The cast (Ester Mazzoleni, Pasquale Amato, Nazzareno de Angelis - now legends
all) were booed, and so was he. He took it, then cancelled all the other
performances. But such is not possible today. Muti will have to go through this
again until the detractors have exhausted themselves and the subscribers -- who
tend to like everything and doze a good deal - take over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Is it possible to do a big, romantic
opera like Forza without very good singers in all the roles -- people who feel
this repertory in their very vocal cords and can convince us their souls have
bonded with the music? This Forza has been meticulously prepared. The orchestra
and chorus have performed brilliantly. Ensembles have been elegantly molded and
are dead-on. Muti has related one tempo to another seamlessly, as only a great
conductor can. But if Don Alvaro cannot make your hair stand on end when he
curses God in the last act; if Leonora cannot break your heart with "La
Vergine degli angeli"; if the "le minaccie" duet doesn't at
least have violence and excitement, Forza doesn't work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Perhaps this was not the very best cast
that could be assembled today, given immense good luck and very deep pockets.
But it would be hard to find a cast that would have been a great deal better.
Cura is a star, after all. Is there anyone who sings Leonora compellingly
today? Has there been anyone in the past ten years? Nucci, a solid
professional, is getting on in years; where is the Verdi baritone with the big,
juicy voice and personality to match? D'Intino is excellent, but a book you can
buy at La Scala includes a picture of Simionato that seizes the imagination
through looks alone. Seeing this demonic, sexy, wild Gypsy, you can almost hear
her thrusting, vibrant tone. Prestia has a decent voice, but the profound
dignity of Siepi, the rolling tones of Ghiaurov, the majesty of Christoff
belong not merely to better basses but to a different species. [Remember this
was written in 1999; the situation has not improved. Licitra, had he taken
Muti’s advice and worked on music and technique might have become a great
spinto, though death would have taken him anyway. Prestia and Papi really had
talent but neither was able to get beyond a modest level. D’Intino, the most
finished of these artists, was mature and would begin to slow down within a few
years. Nucci, who despite a voice without the resonance of the iconic Italian
baritones who emerged in the 1940’s, had a touch of greatness and amazingly has
survived and still sings but even at this time he was an older man in the
singing profession.]<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">As I return to the front of the house,
there are still some fights going on. I go up to the great chandelier. It is
really a lighting booth, and it commands an awe-inspiring view of the house.
The first thing you notice is that the ceiling is a fraud - all the
three-dimensional decorations are trompel'oeil. Theater, after all, is an
illusion -- either magic or a sham.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">I look down into the auditorium. The
platea is almost empty. My eye is caught by a lonely figure limping out,
leaning on the arm of an elegant woman. It is Tebaldi, all alone with her
companion, inching slowly and painfully up the aisle. The house lights start to
go out. Tebaldi turns momentarily, afraid she will lose her footing. Her
companion holds her firmly. A flashlight is shined at her feet, and she pulls
herself up and walks into its beam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The light goes out. La Scala is dark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-32646624422417731132013-05-14T00:00:00.000-07:002013-05-14T00:00:11.120-07:00ADVENTURES AT LA SCALA, A RING SHATTERS<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This
week had its share of scandal. <span style="background: white;">Tannhäuser
in Düsseldorf was literally booed off the stage. What can be known
for sure is that the production by Burkhard C. Kosminski focused on Nazis,
concentration camps and had depictions of "graphic" violence. No one
on the American opera lists had seen the production but of course condemnation
was fast and furious. Defenders were operating on the principal that what is
called </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 19px;">Eurotrash </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="background: white;">in Amercia, and in </span></span><st1:place><span style="background: white; font-size: 14.0pt;">Europe</span></st1:place><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;">,</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Regie Theater </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">is better than the prettified </span><i style="font-size: 14pt;">Classics Comics</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> approach of Otto Shenck,
who did the empty and obvious production at the Met. However, without seeing
what Kosminski actually did, it's hard to know if this was just unpleasantly
provocative; and defending it seemed pointless. </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;">Burkhard C. Kosminski was out of a job, regardless; his production was
cancelled.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="background: white;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">The ghastly Ring Cycles at the Met ended and so
did the ghastly Ring. It's been widely reported "the machine" won't
be back and it may well be seven to ten years before the house tries the Ring
again. "The machine" was symptomatic of the tech/TV/movie culture we
live in. This is a catastrophe for Peter Gelb, dictator of the Met, because it
betrays his naive, superficial and amateurish nature. A pro, looking at the
sketches, the plans, and hearing the utterly disastrous director
Lepage talk would have seen this for a ruinously expensive loser. But Gelb
wanted <b><i>The Transformers</i></b> Ring. As in those movies, all that had to
happen was "special effects". The mentally disabled attracted to such
movies demand nothing else. How ridiculous of Gelb to assume that such people
would want to sit through the hours Wagner's Ring requires. Musically
this was a bad showing. There were a few good singers, but too many of the
crucial roles were poorly to badly sung. And for my personal taste, the
conductor, Fabio Luisi, still has a lot to prove beyond a certain technical
proficiency. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">But, this week, I thought I would
republish something I wrote for a toilet rag </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.5pt;">fourteen </span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14pt;">years ago. It's a tiny part
of history now, as much has changed. But I hope those who didn't read it the
first time might enjoy this, as one enjoys "non-fiction" from years
ago. It's very long in the Internet Age even though I've cut quite a bit but I
hope some of this experience remains, it was a great joy for me. It's in two
parts. Part two will run next week.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b><i>THE WIDDER HAINTS LA SCALA IN 1999</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Riccardo Muti saved me from the Gypsies. We were in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, on an unusually warm day for February, walking to
lunch on my first day at La Scala. "Where is your overcoat?" he
asked. "Walk along in just a sweater, and suddenly little people will
surround you. Gypsies. They will cover you with a rolled-up newspaper." He
shapes both hands around an imaginary paper and conducts them over me, a
mesmerizing presto in 6/8 time. "They will then vanish, and so will your
money, and your watch and anything else they can get. You be careful."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Sure
enough, a few days later I was walking to rehearsal when, on a crowded street
corner, with carabinieri watching, I was circled like a flame by a gang of
young women -- human moths, carrying newspapers. They were swift, silent and
sudden. "Via!" I yelled, hitting at them. They scattered. There was
applause. I looked sharply over at the cops, who merely shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
wasn't so unnerved by the thought of having nearly lost my money and passport-
but the Gypsies would have gotten my pass to La Scala! It had been stamped just
a few days before by the company's sovrintendente (the big boss), Carlo
Fontana. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"You
see, I told you," Muti laughed later. "Always have armor on when you
walk in the world. The Gypsies may still get you, but they will have to work
for what they get."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
was at La Scala in spring 1999, to cover the final weeks of rehearsals and the first two
performances of a new production of La Forza del Destino - the first time La
Scala had mounted the opera in twenty-one years. (The cast back then offered
Montserrat Caballe, Jose Carreras, Piero Cappuccilli and Nicolai Ghiaurov.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Oddly enough, many of the concerns about La Scala and by extension
opera in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, were not merely local or national. Fourteen years
later, I see that we were just at the beginning of serious problems for the
form everywhere. What might be the disease that will kill opera, or change it
radically, was manifesting itself in a crazy country called </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> and at a theater that symbolized the form at its
height.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Changes
would occur at La Scala – as of 2013, the great old theater has been rebuilt
and modernized at Muti's urging. The certainty that nothing could possibly happen in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> on schedule without graft would be disproven. After
overseeing this, giving opera in the suburbs for a few seasons, raising money
as needed, deciding on issues that affect the acoustics of the house and the
functioning of the stage and doing away with the notorious “loggione” mentioned
often in this article, Muti was thrown out and replaced in 2005. But La Scala, though
apparently efficiently run today no longer has the “sacred fire” hovering about
its name. It’s just another prominent European theater, with all the problems
that effect opera everywhere. Once the pinnacle of a career for the greatest
Italian singers, there are very few Italian singers any more. La Scala competes
for the same ten or so big names that draw enthusiasm everywhere, and loses as often as it wins in engaging these people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Back
in 1999, there was a sense that Scala had become less important, chaotically
managed, ungrateful for singers and no longer a key to international
superstardom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Riccardo
Muti was at the center of much of the controversy surrounding La Scala. Though
a world famous conductor (and one of the most highly regarded conductors in the
world today) opera lovers in particular tended to dislike what they thought
they knew about Muti; he was not popular with some important singers. Before
coming to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> even I hadn't been sure about Muti. Already he was
starting to win me over. I admitted as much to Elvio Giudici, a leading critic
of La Musica and contributor to La Repubblica. "But of course,"
Giudici snapped, "Muti is buying you!" Then he hung up on me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Like
all the big institutions in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, La Scala has a hierarchical structure and a feudal
feel. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Three
people were in official positions of power (the positions remains, but those
people have gone). First is the sovrintendente, "Dottore" Carlo
Fontana. Then there is Maestro Riccardo Muti, direttore musicale, followed by
Maestro Paolo Arca, direttore artistico. (Muti tells me it is Italian law that
the artistic director of any theater must be a "maestro," a musician
with credentials. Orchestras have been known to strike if they felt the
artistic director was not a good enough musician -- whether he conducted or
not.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15V1EiIyvughd7v9d9wBFLx-pq_u73A1qlaGpQqTLjuo7UnIGShfXrymOdEbAXgfL30C0KugjRHuNRTlduZSAhraqiDJlMYtNj1fOj79ZG0U3NiqKHHId8wWJzrzyTYhvgjGjRjdJ-Izd/s1600/OlderMuti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15V1EiIyvughd7v9d9wBFLx-pq_u73A1qlaGpQqTLjuo7UnIGShfXrymOdEbAXgfL30C0KugjRHuNRTlduZSAhraqiDJlMYtNj1fOj79ZG0U3NiqKHHId8wWJzrzyTYhvgjGjRjdJ-Izd/s1600/OlderMuti.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;">(Muti, younger and older)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Muti was the world's most publicly detested conductor. In her "book" <i>Cinderella
and Company</i>, Manuela Hoelterhoff calls him "the famously short maestro of fear."
Now, we know that Hoelterhoff is an idiot, as indeed are most people who
comment on the arts – <b><u>ALL </u></b>the
arts in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. Hoelterhoff has no training, no knowledge, no
experience in art, only the shark's ability to sell herself as someone who <i>knows</i> about an art form few people know
or care anything about. Things had already gotten really bad in 1999, but by 2013,
any locus of critical responsibility has collapsed in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Eying
the conductor in New York in 1998, a far more knowledgeable person remarks, "you just get younger
looking." This is Itzhak Perlman, when he comes backstage after a grueling
Vienna Philharmonic concert at which Muti has led the Schumann Second and the
Shostakovitch Fifth. "Oh, caro, no," says Muti, "it is all a
trick. You know - the hair dye." In a second, Muti becomes a hairdresser
dumping a ton of polish on his head and wiping it in. "And then of course,
there is the plastic surgery." Instantly, he shifts from hairdresser to
surgeon, staring at his features in the dressing-room mirror, then pulling his
face in forty different directions in thirty seconds. Everyone laughs except
Perlman, who continues to peer at him. “You are very funny, Maestro,” says
Perlman, "tough funny.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, Muti says to me, "I am not La Scala. Carlo
Fontana is the boss. He consults with me, of course. But the final decisions
are his." In 2005, Muti fired Fontana as part of a power play. The Opera House went on strike in favor of Fontana. Muti prevailed short term but was forced out. Muti is adored worldwide, received the million dollar Birgit Nilsson Prize, heads the Chicago Symphony and even had a triumph at the Met, with Verdi's <b>Attila</b>. What's Carlo Fontana been up to? For that matter, what is to be said about Hoelterhoff? Part of the fecal mass that works for Bloomberg, she will die, meaningless and forgotten. Muti hasn't viewed his career as a popularity contest. No one who has ever had a great career has. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">A
case can be built against Muti's taste and tactics. But his talent? At a thrilling
New York Philharmonic concert of Ravel, Busoni and Brahms in January 1999 (at
which the orchestra refused to bow, applauding the maestro instead), the
stunning Vienna Philharmonic concerts in </span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">New York</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> in March, the Forza orchestra rehearsals, his ear, insight
and authority were remarkable.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti
ascended the throne in 1986. One of the musicians who, out of "human
kindness," tried to help with the transition, bristles at the suggestion
that the rot set in at least a little while before Muti arrived. "Ma,
no!" he yells deafeningly. "This Abbado - I mean the giant, Claudio -
he not nice man, but he great visionary of the theater. La Scala now is a disaster.
And there is one cause Muti, Muti, Muti. I work with him. I know. Basta."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Cautiously,
I bring this point up with Muti. He is surprisingly sweet about it. "That
is La Scala. They crucify you while you're here and canonize you later. Now,
Maestro Abbado is a saint. I will be a saint too, once they do me in."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hatred
of La Scala in '99, and of Muti, was far from muted. The angry feelings of
malcontents were vented in the alternative press and in the second most feared
place at La Scala the top gallery, or Loggione. The most feared place, of
course, is the Sala Gialla.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
Sala Gialla, (“the yellow room”) a windowless chamber in a corner of the second
floor of La Scala, was where Toscanini rehearsed. After his time, the Board
took it over. They still meet there. But Muti reclaimed it for his rehearsals.
It's a long, forbidding room with a massive table in the center. On the walls
are pictures of the wreckage of the house after the allied air raids during
World War II. Above the grand piano at the far end is a huge, terrifying
portrait of Arturo Toscanini. He glares down at everybody who enters the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"I
call it the Muti diet," says Lauren Flanigan. "You get a contract at
La Scala, and you expect to sing. You show up, and there are three other people
cast in the same role. You lose a lot of weight obsessing about if and when
he'll pick you." Flanigan remembers her experiences rehearsing the role of
Abigaille in Nabucco for Muti. "There were four of us Abigailles. Three of
us got to be friends. The fourth we called `the nuclear Abigaille' -- we
figured she was there in case the rest of us got killed in a nuclear holocaust,
they'd have her. She was like a roach; she'd live through anything. So the
scene is going on, and he points from one person to another with his glasses,
and you have to be ready to get up and sing. If he catches you by surprise and
you choke, he gestures to somebody else, and you think, `I'll never get it
now.' So I learned to push my way to the head of the table, so I could see the
glasses coming in my direction. I came back thirty one pounds lighter."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
Sala Gialla is where Cecilia Bartoli met Renee Fleming. "Muti's yellow room, it is like Scarpia's torture
chamber," Bartoli said back then. "Everybody is there, and he goes back
and forth. My cover was always there. Muti keeps people in the dark. No one
ever knows who will actually sing." "Rehearsing was like having
high-school sing-offs," adds Fleming- "You sing it now, then you sing
it.' That's… trying!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">On my first day Muti sees me in the Lobby. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"These
are our guards and our Gods," Muti says, pointing to the giant statues of
Rossini, Verdi, Donizetti and Bellini. He opens the
gold-framed glass doors and guides me into the shadowy theater. "This is
our church."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We
both look in silence for ten minutes. He vanishes, and I sit in this space,
trying not to feel overwhelmed by sentiment. There are the gorgeous gilded
boxes, glinting down on the plush red seats. Up there is that amazing
chandelier, and above it the ceiling, with its intricate patterns suspended by
magic in thin air. And then, the stage. Even with the curtain up and workmen on
platforms and ladders, it is breathtaking. The rehearsal lights are unlike any
I've seen elsewhere. Mysterious figures emerge, then sink into semidarkness. My
eyes are tricked into seeing haunted poses, my ears into hearing fluttering
sounds. There are only stagehands moving scenery. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
auditorium was merely fifty-three years old in 1999; the stage goes back much further.
But time evaporates in here. An art form, maybe one that is vanishing, is made
flesh, so to speak. One can reach out and almost touch -- one fears -- the diminishing mist of something that is disappearing.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">La
Scala was completed in 1778, on the site where the church of Santa Maria della
Scala once stood. The theater was run by a group of noble families, who hired
impresarios to organize seasons, until 1815 - the year La Scala began its
ascendancy. As part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and its primary theater enjoyed large subsidies. It
became a showplace for the powerful Austrian government officials stationed in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. In 1859, when </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> was united (though how united the country actually
became is a matter of serious and continuing debate), </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">'s emerged as the jewel in the crown of Italian opera
houses, even though the government was centered in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Rome</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> of 1839 was a paradoxical place that was typically
Italian - famous, but insulated and provincial. Many of the intellectual
Milanese say the same thing about the city today. Regional antagonisms were
inevitable. One reason Verdi was denied entry to the city's Conservatory was
that he was a foreigner! Most Italians are still foreigners to the Milanese.
Southern Italians are despised by the locals. They are called terroni, a word
with nasty connotations. The idea is that the North (and </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> is the great city in the North) pays all the taxes
squandered by the bums down South.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Claudio
Abbado, Muti's predecessor, is from a great Milanese family - an elegant,
intellectual Northerner. Muti is from the far South. He was born in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Naples</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> (his mother drove all night so he would be born
there) and raised in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Naples</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. Arca is from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Rome</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. Tirola has Neapolitan ancestors. Maestro Montanari,
the "conductor of the stage," is Neapolitan through and through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti
invites me to a birthday party for Montanari, a longtime collaborator. Italians
are more sensitive to accents and regionalisms than the English, and every bit
as snobbish. Usually, my Italian accent inspires a lot of sniffing, if not
confusion -- especially when I'm nervous. ("Please speak English," is
asked of me often at La Scala.) I'm more relaxed chatting with them in this
context, and suddenly they all stop. Muti takes a long time squinting at me and
says, "Those vowels - I notice -- Provincia di Chieti?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Well,
Maestro, my paternal grandfather was from there." There is another
silence. "Then you are one of us," cries Muti - and my grandfather
and I are toasted. "Yes, I suppose we are terroni," says Muti.
"But what does that word come from, after all? Terra - the earth. </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and art and all of us are of the earth, where else
are we from? The great soil of </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. If they think that is an insult they are
maleducatevi- ignoramuses."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Verdi
gradually helped make La Scala a great house artistically on the international
scene. In a sense, it was his </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Bayreuth</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. There he had his first big hit, Nabucco, and his
worst failure, Un Giorno di Regno. His relations with La Scala were often
strained. But the glorious world premieres of the revision of Simon Boccanegra,
Otello and Falstaff carried immense prestige and glamour over into this
century.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In
1897 came a "period of austerity," when subsidies were cut off. Those
were crisis years. Eventually, a way was found to secure the house by obtaining
more private funding and operating more like a corporation. Publisher Giulio
Ricordi, along with composer, librettist and artistic propagandist Arrigo
Boito, used La Scala to dominate art in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. They had help from the many wealthy and powerful
families in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, such as the Visconti. Then as now, </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> was the business center of </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. These powerful industrialists, politicians and
intellectuals saw La Scala as their opera house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">While
Puccini had as many flops as hits at the house, and <b>La Fanciulla del West </b>and
<b>II Trittico</b> had their premieres at the Met, La Scala was crucial to him and to
all the other Italian opera composers of his time and later. It also helped
establish the international viability of operas by Richard Wagner, Richard
Strauss and Claude Debussy, most of these thanks to Arturo Toscanini, who had
two terms running the house and was the first of a number of powerful
conductors to have varying periods of control. Toward the end of World War II,
allied bombs hit the theater, destroying the auditorium. "We wish it had
been the other way around," says Arca, sighing. "If only your
American bombs had hit the stage! Instead, they had to rebuild the auditorium.
They kept the stage, which was absolutely undamaged. That was a disaster. Now
we must rebuild the stage, which is too old fashioned."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In
the 1930s and '40s, the great conductor Victor De Sabata held sway at La Scala.
After he became sick and lost interest in the early '50s, Antonio Ghiringhelli,
an upper-class Milanese businessman/bureaucrat, took over. Though he feuded,
Italian style, with all of them, Callas, Tebaldi, Visconti, the young
Zeffirelli and a host of world-renowned singers had important seasons at the
house. In the 1970s, Claudio Abbado made a significant artistic contribution
with acclaimed Giorgio Strehler productions of Macbeth and Simon Boccanegra
Abbado also had access to a diminishing but impressive roster of artists
including Mirella Freni, Shirley Verrett and Piero Cappuccilli.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Starting
in the late 1980’s the house’s luck in creating stars began to run out though
Roberto Alagna -- then a hot property --
was a Muti discovery. Pavarotti, Freni, Scotto, Cossotto, Cappuccilli,
Ghiaurov, Bruson, Bergonzi, stars of an earlier La
Scala era, some still active at the time, were all over sixty in 1999; Simionato, Tebaldi, Corelli, Gencer,
Stella, Di Stefano, Guelfi, Taddei were retired. Del Monaco was deceased. All of
these were what the Italians call "creatures of La Scala" for longer
or shorter periods of time. In 2013, most of these great singers
have died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Aside
from Alagna, none of the big names in the international opera world under fifty
owes anything to La Scala, and Muti is unique in being the only conductor to
run the house and not produce international stars. "I know that," he
says. "It is always in my thoughts. But give me names - any names from
anywhere in the world. We are doing the Verdi Centennial. I need names for
Ballo, for Otello. You tell me, you tell Arca, you tell </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. We will pick up the phone that second and try for
them. Give me names!" (Again, with hindsight one can see that great
singers with the tremendous command and distinctiveness in the standard
repertory have dried up; fourteen or so years later one is hard pressed to find
imposing voices and great personalities anywhere).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Returning
to Forza, the most certain element, besides Muti, is the conservative Argentinean regisseur, Hugo De Ana. He is in charge of everything
visual - as he was for the infamous Lucrezia Borgia in the
summer of 1998 -- infamous because, during the first performance, Renee
Fleming, singing the title role, was hooted, jeered, booed and finally verbally
abused by a loud if not large segment of the audience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It
struck many as suspicious that Fleming was booed after she had had a
well-publicized altercation with Muti over her inclusion in that ill-fated Don
Giovanni. She also had difficulties over cadenzas with the conductor of the
Lucrezia, Gianluigi Gelmetti, who fainted immediately following her first aria,
returned after forty minutes to conduct the rest of the performance, fainted
again and was rushed to the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
Lucrezia scandal was the first thing Muti talked about when we met backstage at
that New York Philharmonic concert two weeks before I left for </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">. "I was in the house for two days during
Lucrezia," said Muti. "I admire Fleming." </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I ask him about Gelmetti falling over. He ponders. “Well, I can
see falling over once, we've all been tempted to do that. But twice? Strange.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"We
have a difficult public," allows Muti about the Fleming incident. When he
leads me to his office on my first day in town, we pass twelve huge photos of
famous maestros who have conducted at the theater, among them Carlos Kleiber,
Lorin Maazel, Claudio Abbado, Karl Bohm and Herbert von Karajan. "All have
been booed," Muti remarks offhandedly, "except this one." He
stops in front of a portrait of Guido Cantelli, who was appointed principal
conductor at La Scala in 1957. "He was lucky. He died." (Cantelli was
killed in a plane crash just after his appointment was announced.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(The two Leonoras, Ines Salazar and Georgina Lukacs)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Forza
was to star the hot young Argentinean tenor, Jose Cura. It seems likely that mezzo
Luciana D'Intino will sing Preziosilla. The rest of the cast for the upcoming
first night, including the Leonora, is anybody's guess. Argentinean Ines
Salazar and Hungarian Georgina Lukacs had been engaged for Leonora; Leo Nucci
and Giorgio Zancanaro has been engaged for Don Carlo, Giacomo Prestia and Antonio
Papi are two possible Guardianos. Either Alfonso Antoniozzi or Roberto de
Candia might sing Melitone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;">(Cura, top, and Lictira, then very impressive, close to what they looked like in 1999)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"You
are the first outsider to be allowed to see this much," remarked Carlo
Fontana, with big eyes and what is known in Italian as "intenzione,"
when he stamped my pass. "I am giving you two weeks' freedom of the
theater. You can go anywhere and talk to anyone." During one very tense
rehearsal in the theater, </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">
loudly laments my presence, clasping his hands and imploring God's mercy, just
as my grandmother used to do. She had an excuse -- she was Neapolitan. </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> is a Milanese aristocrat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Well,
that's what Forza will do to you," remarks a small but formidable lady
with high, jet-black hair and rather a ferocious cast about the eyes. She's been
watching what </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hollywood</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> would call the "suits" - </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> and henchmen in Armani finery hovering around the
"talent" - Muti in a sweater and a funk. She nods toward the little
group, where much eye-rolling and hand-clasping is going on. Maestro's voice is
soft, but his eyes are drilling small, lethal holes into his associates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
ageless lady cackles. She is retired Turkish diva Leyla Gencer, who runs La
Scala's school (roughly analagous to the Met's Young Artist program) at Muti's
invitation and comes to all the rehearsals. "How is your health?" she
asks. I feel fine. "You won't for long," she says. "You will
have a bad influenza before Forza is finished with you. We will all be
desperately sick. Wait and mark my words! Now, while they mourn, let me sit
with you and tell you about my Forzas!" </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">"Her"
Forzas were fascinating. And about the influenza? She was right.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Thanks
to my insider's pass, I am set to attend a </span><st1:time hour="10" minute="0"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">10 A.M.</span></st1:time><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">
rehearsal in the dreaded Sala Gialla. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Muti
himself plays every piano rehearsal. The head coach for the production
(Massimilliano Bulo in this case) stands beside him making notes for individual
coachings, though Muti plays those, too, when he has time. The atmosphere is
tense. Today, Ines Salazar, officially the first Leonora, will sing. She's been
sick but also has shown signs of vocal distress unrelated to her ailment. She
is a voluptuous, doe-eyed beauty with a face of great sweetness and a terrified
air.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Georgina
Lukacs, who was hired as her "cover," has sung most of the
rehearsals. She's exhausted and rather grim. People are happy and hopeful about
Salazar's presence. Jose Cura is in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Paris</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, singing a long run of Carmen. "In the old days,
we would not have tolerated this," says one of the artistic staff.
"Cura doesn't really know this part. And this is La Scala. But he runs
from here to there. Even Muti has to endure it."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Giacomo
Prestia, the official first Guardiano, is sick. Leo Nucci, whom Muti wants to
sing Don Carlo, is having a last minute angioplasty -- today. Muti went to see
him before he went under anesthesia. No one knows whether he will be in the
production. Luciana D'Intino and her second, Mariana Pentcheva, are sick. Both
Melitones have a serious case of the flu. I keep thinking of Leyla Gencer's
prediction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Since
Salazar is nervous, Muti asks everybody to wait outside while he works with her
on her first aria. People pace. More mucus than tone can be heard from inside
the Sala, even over the nervous warming up that has recommenced in the rest
rooms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">When
we are readmitted, Muti works through the inn scene. He is gentle with Salazar:
"Is it O.K if we try that again? I don't want to tire you. You don't need
to sing out. I know you have a beautiful voice." With the others, he makes
jokes. He loves to get up and imitate the characters walking - a mixture of
Monty Python's Ministry of Funny Walks and, when he wants to make a point,
Charlie Chaplin. It's precisely observed but hilariously exaggerated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti's
piano playing is thrilling. He's one of those conductors who "orchestrate"
at the piano, giving a clear sense of the sonority he will achieve in the pit,
imitating certain instrumental combinations: "Here is the flute with the
oboe - use that color in your voice"; "Here is the bassoon - let it
lead you to the expression." The most intricate figurations roll out from
his fingers, in tempo, with absolute precision and beautiful tone. Unlike most
rehearsal players (even most conductors, when they deign to play) he is not a
piano-basher but a virtuoso making music. Everything he does has an expressive
purpose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">He's
leading without seeming to do so - but singers are singers. There's a lot of
throat-clearing, daydreaming and watch checking. They don't seem to absorb what
he plays for them, even when he points out how hearing the orchestra clearly
will help them project their voices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">He
works intensely with Giorgio Zancanaro, who will double Nucci and may sing the
first night. Zancanaro has recorded the role with Muti and sung it frequently.
But he's forgotten it. Muti goes over and over various sections, just for
rhythms and the right notes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Now,
Giorgio," he says at one point, "tell me, don't you make a lot of
records?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"But
certainly, Maestro."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"But
you don't like to listen to yourself?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"No,
Maestro, I am proud of my records."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Except
one, Giorgio."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Well,
maybe one or two, Maestro."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"I'm
thinking of one in particular."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"I
was hoarse at that one, Maestro."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"No,
I mean our Forza"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Did
we record Forza, Maestro?" There is a pause. "I think I lost that,
Maestro. I will buy it today." Muti finds this hilarious, but Montanari,
the maestro of the stage, rolls his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti
works with everyone on the words and the precise expression of every moment. He
is also looking for what American acting teachers and stage directors call the
"arc" of the character. With Zancanaro, he tries to get at the
unstable nature of Carlo - a good-natured, clever storyteller, driven by a
force he doesn't understand. In his effort to find out whether the strange
person traveling with Trabuco is his sister, Carlo asks the peddler, "Who
is that person - personcina - with you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"This
strange word, Giorgio - `personcina' - what do you think it means?" They
discuss the word, which in context is a trap. "How would you trick
somebody with a word, Giorgio?" Zancanaro has no idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Well,
Giorgio, you could say it like this" Muti demonstrates with a slightly
poisonous charm. "Or you could try it like this." This time Muti
smiles, but his eyes flash with anger. "Or perhaps you could see what
happens when you throw the word out." He shrugs and gives a staccato
reading.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Zancanaro
sings it the same way every time. Muti takes about an hour on the inn scene
aria, "Son Pereda, son ricco d'onore." It's important to Muti that
its three sections be fall of different colors yet form a link. "Giorgio,
this man tells the story. He's making it up as he goes along, it's loose, and
he is having a good time. You can play with the rhythm." Muti sings it as
though it were a funny Schubert song, full of quirky color.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Zancanaro
tries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">After
several times through, Muti moves on to the middle section. "Giorgio,
listen to this." Muti plays the accompaniment with fury.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Yes.
Maestro."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"But
do you understand, Giorgio? This is a version of the destiny theme, the melody
that starts the overture." Muti plays it. "Now listen." Muti
plays the accompaniment again. It's obvious -- when it's pointed out.
"What does that mean to you, Giorgio?" Not much, it seems. "You
see," explains Muti, "this man is trapped, as are all the characters.
They can't help themselves. They are good people - even this Carlo. He tells a
story, it's fun, it's silly, then he is pulled the way the ocean pulls you into
a violent storm. He forgets himself and becomes hate. Then all of a sudden
--Giorgio, are you listening?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Yes,
Maestro."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"All
of a sudden he is this charming person again, telling this funny story."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Again,
Zancanaro sings it the same way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Finally,
Muti sings it. He starts with an easy smile and absolute charm, savoring the
swinging rhythm. Then suddenly, when the destiny theme erupts, his eyes cloud
over, his face becomes fixed, every word is a dagger, and the final phrase is a
vicious thrust. Muti - in character -- takes a short breath, laughs and shrugs,
then returns to the jaunty tune, but this time, Carlo, as Muti sings him, can't
quite lose the edge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"You
see, Giorgio, if you sing somewhat like that, you help the whole scene. That is
the opera - the strange world. No one is what he seems. It is like Pirandello
-- where is the mask and where is the real person? You remember Pirandello,
Giorgio? And the chorus and Preziosilla and Trabuco and even Leonora offstage,
you make them richer, for they can respond to you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Zancanaro
sings it exactly as he did the first time through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Well,"
Muti says later, "you have to understand singers. He is worried about his
voice; he wonders if he will sing the first night. He likes Nucci and is
worried about him, but of course he would like to sing the first night himself.
And today they all have permanent jet lag. He will take a plane or drive to go
on for somebody who is sick in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Vienna</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> or </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Graz</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> or </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Palermo</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> between these rehearsals, if he can. He'll sleep in
the car on the way back - or not, if he can't find someone else to drive. And
he will come to the rehearsals exhausted. And he is an old-timer. They learn it
one way, and if you can get them to change two words, or add a color here and
there, that is the most you expect."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti
goes on to the convent scene. Everybody who can flees. Salazar runs out. There
is a silence. She comes back in but clearly would rather be dead. Muti smiles
at her and waves her closer. "Just try to feel it," he says.
"You have a voice. But even if you are sick, if you feel and understand,
that will help you sing." Once again he tries to get her to be Leonora.
"Son giunta! Grazie, o Dio!" she yells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"But,
Ines, you didn't need to yell. If you believe in God, and this woman does, He
is everywhere, right beside your mouth. And you are relieved. You have escaped
your brother. "Son giunta - grazie, o Dio!" He sings like someone
abandoning terror, almost without voice. And he looks around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Salazar
really tries, but she can't seem to get it. "You know why I looked around,
what I was looking for?" She doesn't. "But Ines, what is her next
line? 'Estremo asil quest'e per me' - this is my last refuge." Muti speaks
to her in English and sometimes in Spanish. "I looked around for the
cross, for the church, for death in life. You see, she would kill herself if
she could. But she can't, because she believes. So here she can find peace -
pace. And what will she implore God for later? Pace."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But
Salazar, understandably, wants to get into the aria proper, which is
treacherous. Muti tries to help. "I will relax the rhythm for you,"
he promises "Don't worry" When it comes to "Deh! non m'abbandonar,"
he says, "I will watch you and breathe with you. If you have a little
trouble I will hurry and save you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Salazar
gets tighter and tighter; by the end of the aria she is so frightened she has
to run out of the room again. Muti takes her hands and kisses her cheek when
she comes back. Then he sings and acts Melitone, since even the third cover is
sick. The entire character is there in his voice and face while he sits at the
piano. The expression in his eyes changes on every word, as the priest, who is
supposed to be kind, sneers at the stranger in need, then catches on that there
may be scandal ("Scomunicato siete?") but is too dumb to see he's
talking to a woman. Once again Muti catches the strange juxtaposition in the
opera - it's funny and ugly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
teenager with the beard stands up and sings. He is Antonio Papi, actually
twenty-four, and is covering Guardiano. His is the first imposing voice I've
heard during this trip to La Scala. Muti tries to give Papi and Salazar what
acting teachers call an "inner metaphor." "Do you hear the flute
here, signora?" he asks, playing the trill under "E questo il
porto." "Your soul must wait for that and when you hear the trill,
your soul must vibrate to it - you have found home, the blessing of God, light
after the black night. Forget your voice. So you miss a note the flute is God's
blessing."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"If
she misses the note, forget the flute - it'll be the loggione whistling,"
wisecracks Zancanaro. All the men laugh except Muti. Salazar runs out of the
room again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"I
could have been rude to Zancanaro," Muti says to me during a break.
"But it was too late. And look, by now she better realize they may
whistle. She must still be able to feel her part and give meaning. They even
whistled Tebaldi here. If she is too scared to lose herself in Leonora, then it
will be the story of Ines, not The Force of Destiny. I think you know which one
is more interesting."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Still,
when Salazar returns, he once again takes her hands and kisses her cheeks. He
also sends everybody out but the round young man with the ponytail. Muti plays
Alvaro's entrance, and this young fellow sings. Suddenly, an Italian tenor! His
name is Salvatore Licitra (Cura's cover). Like Papi, he is someone Muti has
found. Muti coaches him through every word and every phrase. "Don't let
your voice slip back into your throat," he says. "Keep it forward. If
you need a little time, I will wait for you. Don't start to bark." Licitra
tries very hard and manages gorgeous phrases but makes mistakes. Muti is tender
and infinitely patient. Later, Muti, will say, "Licitra had a great Italian voice in him but he didn't want to study and learn music, very few of them do, today, but he was a great loss." After a short period of great success, then some disappointment at his unevenness, Licitra died in a motor scooter accident in 2011 at the age of 43.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">When
Zancanaro is allowed back into the room, Muti inspires Licitra into singing
"Or muoio tranquillo" with a long, liquid, large-scale, melting line
that is really Verdi and really thrilling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Look,"
says Lauren Flanigan, "he is a great opera conductor. You have to be
serious, and you have to work. But if he knows you mean it, he is with you
every second. He breathes and sings with you. You know, while I studied him, he
studied me. One day he said, '</span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">California</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">' -- that's what he called me after he'd asked me
where I was from - `</span><st1:state><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">California</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, you can hold those notes a little more and take more
time. It's in your voice, you can do it, and it will be great!' He saw things
in me and potentials I didn't know were there."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"I
don't know that anyone understands Muti entirely," says Bartoli, "but
that is true of all great musicians, perhaps. He remembers everything you do.
He has strong ideas, so he isn't always happy. But if you are on [the same
wavelength] with him, he will help you be even better. He was at every
rehearsal, even the staging ones, and he was always helping. And during the
performance it was all in his eyes - the score, the feeling and his love for
the music. It is hard not to give everything."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Later,
I tell Muti most professional coaches don't do what he does, let alone
conductors. Talk about the diaphragm, the tongue, keeping the voice forward,
helping with breath? Impossible, in today's opera. Who knows that stuff?
Perhaps worse, who cares?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"I
will make a bet with you," Muti offers. "If you answer my question
correctly, I will take you to the Four Seasons for lunch. If you cannot answer,
you must spend a day without asking me any questions at all." I agree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Who
was Maria Carbone?" I tell him. “I played for her for five years. Every day,
I played for the singers she was teaching, and for those she was coaching and
for her classes. There was nothing about voices she didn't know, and she taught
me everything she knew. All the tricks and fakes - they can be useful - and all
the muscles and what the tongue and the jaw do. And the exercises for them, and
for the diaphragm. And how to sing on the words, to make the words your
servants. They can even make your voice more beautiful. And now, I owe you a
lunch."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Io
non amarlo? Tu ben sai s'io l'ami!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This
is the night of decision for Salazar. She is trying to sing Act I. But she
can't manage any of the words clearly. "Sai" comes out as
"soy," even when she repeats it for the third time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Ma!
E sai! Non soy!" cries one of the power wives sitting in the theater. "Questo
e La Scala. Non e una trattoria cinese!" (“This is La Scala, not a Chinese
restaurant!!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti
stops after the act and talks intensely with his wife. He looks exhausted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Cura
has returned. So has Nucci. The tenor, in costume, marks. When he sings full
voice, the throaty honking is alarming. He doesn't seem to know the role
securely. The clarinet plays the solo to "La vita e inferno
all'infelice" gloriously. Cura lets out his voice for the first and last
time. He sings "I panteloni son troppo largo!" - the pants are too
big.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti
freezes. The maestros around me hiss. "Tenore!" cries one and makes
the sign against the evil eye. Hugo de Ana and his costumer run up to the stage
over the bridge. Muti starts again. Cura croons. Nucci, just out of the
hospital, sings full out. When Cura falters and they have to take a section
again, Muti asks Nucci not to sing. "No, Maestro, I will sing," he
says. Cura mouths the words, Nucci sings full out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
adjustments are made, and "Solenne in quest'ora" starts. The
"wounded" Cura has been placed on strategically arranged pillows.
Instead of singing, he starts tossing the pillows across the stage. Muti goes
right on. In the "Sleale" duet, Cura tries his voice and cracks, so
he just mouths the words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
maestros around me are enraged, but Muti goes on. The camp scene is suddenly
alive and stunning. There is wild energy. Muti sings Melitone's sermon from the
pit (both Melitones are still sick) --hilarious and scary too. Luciana D'Intino
also sings and acts full out, as does Ernesto Gavazzi, the Trabuco. Cura stands
in the wings, fussing with his costume. Muti whips the orchestra and chorus up
until the theater is shaking. "Maestro is truly incalzato tonight,"
says Arca to me. He means Muti is beside himself but putting it all in the
music, and "Rataplan" is a fierce explosion. Those who usually yawn
through rehearsals -- stagehands, tech people, covers - cheer at the end of
this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Muti
throws his baton down and runs to his dressing room. The "suits" run
after him. That fantastic chandelier comes on, and the applause continues.
Leading it is Renata Tebaldi, who has been to all the rehearsals in the
theater. She is radiant. "Look at the chandelier and the ceiling,"
she says. "This is my cradle, my temple! And you know, I would not be too
unhappy if it were my grave."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(Tebaldi with epigone Aprile Millo, Madame Leyla Gencer)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Tebaldi
has been ailing. I've been told she has been profoundly depressed. Muti has
asked her to teach at La Scala's school. She has refused. He also asked her to
come to all his rehearsals. At first she hesitated. He went to her house, and
after interminable cups of coffee, he persuaded her to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Nucci
passes us. She congratulates him on singing full out. "I'm old," he
laughs, sarcastically. "I need to sing at my age. The young people don't
have to."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I
gossip (like everybody else) about the two Leonoras: one screams, the other
can't begin to pronounce. "Have you no pity?" demands Tebaldi.
"That poor creature is terrified. Let's pray for her." But at the
same instant, we look across the theater. There is Salazar, evidently on the
brink of tears, in intense conversation with Leyla Gencer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Uh-oh,"
sighs Tebaldi, "I have a feeling we are in for the other one the rest of
this rehearsal." Muti comes and kisses Tebaldi's hands and her cheeks. She
hugs him and pats his back. "You remember when we had tenors?" he
asks Tebaldi. "Tucker, for example. I begged him to come to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> more. He sang Pagliacci with me. I was green, and he
was so prepared, he taught me. But when I told him at rehearsal he could hold a
high note, he stood up and said, `Thank you, Maestro.' I told me, don’t stand
up at a conductor, Tucker, he will think you want to kill him”.<br /><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">He shakes his head. "I will go back over the camp scene and to the end of
the opera. Licitra will sing Alvaro, Cura will watch. Lukacs will sing
Leonora."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Our
attention is drawn to Gencer and Salazar. One assumes Gencer is trying to be
comforting, but it's not a quality that emanates from her. "That poor
girl," says Tebaldi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"She
gave a great audition two years ago, and I worked with her. It was a wonderful
voice," says Muti. "It is still a wonderful voice, Maestro,"
replies Tebaldi, "but she has done too many Toscas. She was a fine Donna
Anna, and you know that is hard. But they must earn today, so they sing
everything, and it is easy to growl and bark. That ruins your voice."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Gencer
joins us and kisses and pats Muti. She kisses and pats me for good measure.
"You are looking less well," she says. I admit I'm feeling unwell.
"It will get worse," she says, "like the singing in this
Fonza." "That girl needs to take six months off and breathe in the
country air and not sing a note," says Tebaldi of Salazar, who looks very
sad and vulnerable. "Then she needs to come back slowly, very slowly! No
Toscas!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"She
needs to develop her falsetto!" says Gencer. "She needs to separate
it from the rest of her voice and learn, so she always has the top. Then when
she wants to use the chest, she can [do it] without the voice sounding like
mud." "That is her problem, Leyla," says Tebaldi. "The
chest - too high. This falsetto is a joke. A crutch!" "It is how I
made my career, Renata! I sing so many Forzas for so many years, I forget them.
How many did you sing? I think you can remember."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Luckily,
at this point, Arca comes to get Muti. Gencer hurls herself in front of him and
kisses and pats him. I get Antonio Papi and introduce him to Tebaldi. He is
wide-eyed and kisses both her hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"You
are wonderful," she says. "You sound like the basses of my time."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Papi
is almost crying. "I grew up listening to your records," he says.
"I am very sorry I won't be able to sing with you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">She
looks him up and down. "You know, I am very sorry not to be singing with
you!" She throws her head back and her laugh resounds around the theater.
He and I both see the irresistible and beautiful young woman she was. And we
get a hint of that glorious voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Meanwhile,
De Ana is sitting at the production desk, his head in his hands. "He saw
me work with Lukacs, this afternoon. He knows!" he cries. He's talking
about the staging rehearsals, which Muti watched like a hawk. De Ana will later
be criticized for the singers' immobility. But at the rehearsal, De Ana was
killing himself trying to get Lukacs to move and emote in the convent scene. He
was literally running around the stage, begging her to do something --
anything. She just watched him, like an iceberg implacably heading for the
Titanic. "I just told Maestro, she is like steel," grouses De Ana.
"And you know what he said? `Good. She will need to be made of steel to
survive this first night."'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The
Metropolitan Opera does seven performances a week for thirty weeks. There were
twenty-three operas in the repertory during the 1998-99 season. Some played six
or seven times; some (Aida, La Boheme) twenty or more times. La Scala does ten
to twelve operas a year, over ten months. Each plays six to eight times,
alternating with ballets. A few that can be cast are brought back for three or
four performances in the late spring or mid-fall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Tickets
at La Scala then were costly -- if you could get one. It is widely accepted
by everyone in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Milan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> that "ordinary people" cannot get tickets.
"Bagarini" (scalpers) are pretty much the only way. They are used
mainly by tourists. The box-office workers at La Scala are deliberately
unhelpful. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">By
1999 the Met, under Joseph Volpe, oddly enough also a despised leader, had
become something of a model about how to function in a country that has no government
subsidy. In 1999 the Italians at La Scala were studying Volpe’s massive
fund-raising department. Of course, the Met does direct marketing, calling
people at home. La Scala does none of that, nor does any other Italian theater.
It is felt that they will have to. But this does not come naturally to arts
executives who have grown up knowing about in fighting and intrigue politically
as a way to get more money from the government but who are embarrassed about
asking for money from wealthy people. And those wealthy people have no tradition of simply giving their money away. In the old days when the great families
underwrote La Scala, they did so on a for profit and for power basis. “Here,”
someone says to me, “you don’t get very far when you say give me a lot of
money, and then go away quickly, you won’t get any of it back, and you won’t be
able to control what happens at the opera house.” However in 1999 change is in
the air. And the man who will try to bring this change about is Dottore Carlo
Fontana.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"There
are two words you should know in relation to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">," says one of his detractors - "Lottananza
and buon salotto." The first refers to the system by which managers of
arts institutions in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> make their way up the ranks. It has its particularly
Latin characteristics, but a similar club exists in all systems where there is
heavy government subsidy. People (usually men) get into this system through
political allies. Once they win their spurs, they are set for life. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
buon salotto is sort of the old boys' club of </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. These are the wealthy, the intricately connected,
the all-powerful. </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> belongs to both. "He was one of the best of that old
school," says one of the young bloods at La Scala, who of course will not
speak for attribution. "</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The question is, can he carry this theater into the
future? It is an entirely different game. He doesn't know the rules."</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"Yes,"
</span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> barks, when I relay the remark. "It is a new
game, and I have invented the rules!" </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">For
a top-secret meeting of general managers from most of Europe's opera houses,
hosted by La Scala in 1995, Fontana wrote an article (leaked to me by a
disgruntled ex-employee), the first sentence of which read, "2001, opera
addio." The article was titled "Poker d'Assi della Lirica" -
poker with aces on the opera stage. It's a reference to the end of Aa II of La
Fanciulla del West, when Minnie defeats her adversary with three aces. One
assumes it was not lost on Dottore Fontana that she does so by cheating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It
was </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> who pushed forward changes in funding methods but not
even he could have foreseen the collapse of the European economy, the chaos in
the Italian government or a measurable falling off of interest in the arts
among Italians under 50. Our conversation in 1999 is no longer relevant<span style="color: #333333;"> and it may even be that </span></span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> was far from the worst of the Italian
managers, even though I was told he rejected a fundraising project because he
thought the director of it had “the evil eye”. I repeated this story to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;"> - a very youthful and handsome fifty.
"Look, I let them do La Forza del Destino," says </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">Fontana</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.0pt;">. "If we get through it with most
of our fingers and toes, and only a few pets and great-grandparents die, we
will be doing very well. And we have just hired a marketing consultant. Now,
despite what my enemies say, I work. Good day."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">PART TWO: Tebaldi, and the performance. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<u1:p><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></u1:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<u1:p><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Since Sunday was mother's day I thought I would include the
following bit of declamation from Cilea's opera L'Arlesiana. "To be a
mother is Hell!!" (Esser un madre e'un inferno!!) As sung by Claudia Muzio.<o:p></o:p></span></u1:p></div>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-26808362727256246482013-05-05T23:27:00.001-07:002013-05-05T23:27:53.701-07:00Netrebko, Muti Speaks, Trovatore<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It's
fun to see the necrophiliacs (opera lovers) on various opera lists go on about
either how bad Anna Netrebko's aria from Verdi's <b><i>Macbeth</i></b> is
("Vieni t'afretta"), or how wonderful it is because she isn't yet a
corpse like the great ladies who supposedly made better recordings of the
aria. Being a corpse for many opera obsessives has become a critical
imperative, a yard stick for excellence in singing. The old timers (the widder
is of an age, don't worry) talk about Maria, Renata and Zinka in exactly the
same terms they would have FIFTY YEARS AGO in standing room, and the
"younger" idiots parrot these people because, well, if the best you
can do is the Ghoul (Maria Guleghina), Goo-Goo (aka Angela Gheorghiu)
or The Gum Drop (Debbie Voigt) you<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>have</i> to
talk about those ladies of the past, using the same Judy Garland imagery (she's
a corpse too). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But those who condemn the necrophiliacs don't do so
seriously, expressing the implied questions that are the most important about
this view of opera: "why are there no really new works being given in
sufficient numbers, often enough, for them to excite a living audience?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br />
La Boheme when new was called a "tuneless sewer" but became one of
the most popular operas in the rep. Why is there among the queens and
"operaphiles" such an automatic hatred of the new, regardless of the
style of the composer? Do they love the art or is this a recherché form of
masturbation? Are the cretins all over the "Opera Net" just jaded and
dumb perpetual adolescents who can get off only on familiar porn? Finally,
though, there is the question of WHY there are no longer
more than a deformed hand's worth of really impressive singers who, starting
with impressive gifts, have reached artistic maturity, their techniques and
voices still intact?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br />
Of course, there are opera managements to consider: I dealt with that at the
preposterous Met, run by a bunch of morons. But they aren't the only ones. And
how about the collusion of the (shrinking and unimpressive) "writing
class"? There are too few outlets, and they are ALL filled either with
whores making deals with press agents, or with fools.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br />
Netrebko is simply typical of today. She was a beautiful young woman (for
an opera singer) when she started and is still “handsome”; she has a big voice
of outstanding quality and an easy top. She has presence and knows how to sell
herself. She has worked sporadically at refining her singing, but not with any
great success. She may or may not be stupid, but she is superficial and
functions at a far remove stylistically from the roles the idiots think she
does so well. It might be a different story in Russian repertory, but only time
will tell if she makes a commitment to those roles, and really, as wonderful as
many are, they aren’t as showy or as lucrative in the West as the Italian and
French roles she has done in. There isn’t anything authentic about her (well,
unless it's greed).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Her performance of the aria starts very badly with the entire
first phrase flat. The huge run (marked grandioso) is poorly controlled, not in
time and broken for a breath, though Verdi marks it to be sung in one breath.
She has trouble with trills, used by the composer strategically to dramatize
the aggressive but unstable nature of the character. She can't manage
the staccato markings especially in the florid sections, so she can't make
the necessary contrast with the legato asked for, sometimes
immediately after. Her flimsy gargling of the cabaletta (or fast section) has a
quality of the overly ambitious student recital about it. Whether she is
forcing the middle of her voice to make a darker sound may be a matter of
opinion (or You Tube compression). It's a poor showing, but of course she's a
star and like Judy can do no wrong. That's what opera has become and is as good
a reason for all those intellectuals to despise the form as any.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvPlRygKnko">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvPlRygKnko</a> (Netrebko vacuums Verdi)</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">One of the problems of opera today has been the death of “schools” of singing, where performers internalize the requirements of what they are singing. Opera singing now is bland, superficial or wrong in too many cases. I will sound like a broken record, but with the fools who cast, an audience that itself is increasingly alienated from its traditions (and the small audience that exists in America is mostly remarkable for its ignorance), conductors who rush from job to job, and the fact that</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><u>ALL</u></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">these operas are a century and more old, means that an often halfhearted effort to more or less get it right is the best one can do. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Returning to Macbeth though, what does the music require? What
would Verdi have wanted?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">(<b><u>DIGRESSION:</u></b> By
the time Verdi wrote the first version of Macbeth, in 1847, he was very famous
and by composer standards very rich. He seriously considered retiring after
this opera had its premiere and becoming a gentleman farmer with his mistress,
Giuseppina Strepponi. When he was rehearsing Macbeth in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Florence</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, Strepponi, disguising herself, slipped
into the city to join him in secret. She’d been living in self imposed exile in
</span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Paris</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, where their affair had begun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYPpPPAaYqIahkobEVxtB1CrbJ7Ahj-tgkbt_-GrbpYwNyy5DByV344_rJYnh_uMLaStI9i9AioFkrQVsWIEy5YnWWalzHIA66_Vv2TMrrmozKw-flwnBBzmxbO0bKnNAwh9N6VgKHAim/s1600/Strepponi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDYPpPPAaYqIahkobEVxtB1CrbJ7Ahj-tgkbt_-GrbpYwNyy5DByV344_rJYnh_uMLaStI9i9AioFkrQVsWIEy5YnWWalzHIA66_Vv2TMrrmozKw-flwnBBzmxbO0bKnNAwh9N6VgKHAim/s1600/Strepponi.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">(pic: Strepponi)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">DIGRESSION 2:</span></u></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> She had had a brief career as a superstar in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;">; she had been the first Abigaille in
Verdi’s first hit, Nabucco, at La Scala; and indeed, had contributed to the
sensation. In fact she seems to have made a career like Netrebko’s, based on
good looks, though in Strepponi’s case, she was also musical, had acting
ability and a deep seriousness. In any case, her celebrity helped young Verdi
enormously, and for herself, brought her well paying gigs, and wealthy
“patrons” by whom she had too many illegitimate children. Her voice was a wreck
by the time she was in her early thirties (she retired in 1846, after being
booed off the stage more than once) but she had saved her money, and with her
brood of sin, she settled in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Paris</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, where she became a successful business
woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">They met again
in The City of Light. By then, Verdi was a successful young widower who had also
lost two children, so he had, as they say, <i>lived, </i>and they fell in love. No one cared in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Paris</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, but in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> at the time, where every city had
tabloids like The National Enquirer and New York Post, she was still a legend
of “immorality”. They made some kind of pledge to one another – which they
kept for the rest of their lives, even though the composer strayed, but he made it clear he would not marry her. Under Italian law that would have made
him financially responsible for her sons and that he would not do. She agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">As he finished Macbeth, she provided a shrewd eye and ear, as well
as a tough, theater wise mind, and he adored living with her in secret in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Florence</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. He let a telegram boy into their hotel suite.
While he wrote a response to the telegram, the boy saw Strepponi, and, after doffing his cap
and taking his tip, ran to the nearest tabloid. Verdi’s involvement with
Strepponi filled all the papers the next day. Though they were both furious to
have been discovered, Verdi told all his friends, including his former father
in law, who had virtually raised him, that he loved Strepponi, knew her past,
would live with her, had no intention of marrying her and if they didn’t like
that or her, they could forget they knew him. They all knuckled under.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Back to the issue of
Netrebko and her timid and clumsy singing of the aria, of course, someone on one of the
lists wrote in about Verdi’s famous casting letter. When the opera was to
be given in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Naples</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, he was disturbed by the casting of a star soprano
named Tadolini. He wrote, “Tadolini is a fine figure of a woman, and I would
like Lady Macbeth to look ugly and malignant. Tadolini sings to perfection and
I would rather that Lady didn’t sing at all. Tadolini has a marvelous voice,
and I would rather that Lady’s voice were rough, hollow, stifled. Point out
that the chief pieces of the opera are two: the duet between Lady and her
husband, and the sleepwalking scene; and these pieces must not be sung at all:
they must be acted and declaimed in a voice that is hollow and veiled: without
this the whole effect is lost.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">(pic: Callas as Lady Macbeth)</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Scholars
have on the whole thought Verdi was exaggerating greatly, even to excess. For
one thing in this first version of the opera there are arias and cabalettas for
Lady Macbeth that are of the utmost difficulty and require great virtuosity.
Though it’s very
possible that Verdi simply didn’t like Tadolini and was trying very
diplomatically to get her fired, the usual interpretation of the letter is that
Verdi was insistent that Macbeth was – and this was an old but new term in 19th century </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> – a music drama. That its effect was not in the
success of individual arias or even in rousing patriotic choruses. Verdi insisted that this was not important, not the soul of the opera. That was
in the fusing of music with dramatic responsibility, a higher degree of dedication
to what Verdi saw as the "truth" in the work of the world’s greatest dramatic
poet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Mentioning this letter is, at least, a tiny effort to get to
the issue of “authenticity”. And as in all quarrels about “authenticity”, the
question becomes what exactly did Verdi really mean? Was it a diplomatic way to
get rid of a famous soprano? Or did he want a vocal color that
wasn't merely pretty, but a singer of supreme virtuosity none the less – though
the greatest stretch and by the composer’s design the climax of that first
Macbeth is<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Sleepwalking Scene</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">, an amazing accomplishment, which does benefit from a
haunting, beautiful tone. (The Paris Macbeth of 1865 is full of remarkable
harmonic and orchestral invention but<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Sleepwalking Scene<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>is no longer the culmination of the opera, and
what seems remarkable in 1846 no longer seems so striking amid the greater
sophistication and changed emphases of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Paris</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. It is the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Paris</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">version, though frequently with cuts, that
is performed today.) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It's rare to use the term "authenticity" about Giuseppe Verdi (the <b><i>historically informed movement</i></b> had its roots in music of the Baroque and earlier, where scholars often had to reconstruct and interpret the tuning and notation of what they wanted to perform. Though the most familiar music they worked on, The Four Seasons, Handel's Water Music, The Brandenburgs is terrifically tuneful, those composers were technical and intellectual wonders as much or more than tunesmiths.) Alma Mahler simply quoted received opinion and her dead husband when she described Verdi as "talented but totally untrained, a peasant, ignorant."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Actually, Verdi was not a peasant, his people were small business owners and ran small farms, they didn't actually work the land. He was beyond question the best trained of the Italian composers of his generation and of earlier and later generations too. Being rejected at the Milan Conservatory because of his age and only respectable piano playing was the best thing that could have happened to him. His private teacher forced him to practice counterpoint day and night, to work hard in the demanding "old" forms, such as fugue, and throughout his composing life Verdi had the scores of those great intellectuals Frescobaldi, Palestrina and Bach at his bedside.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">He was also intellectually brilliant, a voracious
reader, whose circle even to a large degree in provincial Busetto, and certainly
later in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Milan,</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> contained the most brilliant Italian minds
of the period. Andrea Maffei, whose idea it was to turn Macbeth into an opera
and who drew up the scenario and wrote many of the verses was a man of
tremendous culture and intellect, as well as one of the composer's closest
friends. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">One is less likely to see Verdi's work dismissed today, than was true
fifty years ago. Sensible people are more convinced that he was a great
composer, though of that most equivocal form, opera, and don't feel the need to
make excuses for him. However, since his career ended one hundred twenty five
years ago and his operas, now usually badly cast, form a huge part of the
standard repertory, trying to get them right seems like a good idea. However,
of course, familiarity brings sloppiness in execution. They are taken for
granted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The vocal expertise he expected and wrote for has long vanished. The type of voices he demanded (and he was very practical), are largely gone (there isn't a true Verdi baritone in the world today -- at least known -- not only a case of voices too light and bright and small, but of temperaments too timid for magnificent parts such as Rigoletto, Simon Boccanegra, Rodrigo in Don Carlos, Iago, Falstaff, Macbeth and a number of others.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Things have gotten so bad that a former tenor named Placido Domingo has taken over many of these roles. Just as he defined down what it meant to be a Verdi tenor with his small voiced, cautious, range challenged but inescapable mediocrity in roles such as Otello, Don Alvaro, Don Carlos and other roles, he is defining down what the Verdi baritone roles need. He has been a great star. But in opera today that's as meaningless as it is in movies – or are we to accept Tom Cruise, The Rock, Jessica Chastain, Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Ted, The Bear, as </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>iconic? </i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The idiots buy it and praise it. If Domingo is great, then less good, which amounts to much worse, is acceptable. If Nebrebko is “fabulous” than an anonymous chamber maid is good enough when she's not around.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Of course, that is what smart people often hold against opera -- the singer. He or she is inescapable, even in 20th century works. Wozzeck, his Marie; Lulu, her Dr. </span><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-size: 14pt;">Schön, her poor Countess, Alwa </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">all need charisma and vocal acumen, not always of such a different sort fundamentally, even if the music sounds different. Intellectuals, rightly sometimes, have known that many famous singers just had a certain rare kind of vocal set-up physically and either the instinct to use it effectively, or the luck to get it well trained, and were shrewd self promoters rather than </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">artists of </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">interpretive profundity and seriousness.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For those with an interest in authenticity as regards Verdi one might start with that first great sensation, Nabucco. Nowadays, the leading lady, Abigaille, is
usually sung by pitch challenged screamers such as The Ghoul, above. It is
considered a heavy part, for, until a very late uninspired aria of repentance, she
is a black hearted villain. But Strepponi’s biggest sensation at La Scala before Abigaille was as Adina in </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>The Elixir of Love – L’elisir d’amore</i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">,
Donizetti’s delightful comedy, usually sung by high, light sopranos. When
Riccardo Muti cast a very famous Adina, Renata Scotto, as Abigaille in his
recording of Nabucco, they were both roundly criticized. But from all reports
it’s unlikely that Strepponi had a bigger, darker or more secure voice than
Scotto.</span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">On Opera Hell these last two weeks was a posting decrying
"authenticity" in I guess opera because that poster doesn't know
anything about music (a common problem among opera lovers). His (?) posts were
incoherent, stupid and philistine. Attempts to perform "what the
composer" wanted go back a way, except puzzlingly. This is a claim the
Little Big Horn of conductors Arturo Toscanini made, which did not stop him
from radically recomposing Tchaikovsky's <b><i>Manfred</i></b>, as can be heard on
the broadcast of 1953. Whatever is "wrong" with Manfred as written,
what Little Big Arturo does is disgraceful and does Pyotr ilyich no favors. But
I don't believe "Tosca" (what his 6000 girlfriends called him) thought
he was doing the wrong thing. Any more than when he made the supremely unmusical traditional cuts in La Traviata<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Most conductors, whatever they or their press
agents or record companies claimed, "touched" up orchestration, made
cuts, re-harmonized and added a plethora of their own
"expressive" devices regardless of the score. Even a great scholar
conductor like Victor De Sabata re-orchestrated everything he touched, including
Tristan und Isolde as can be heard very clearly despite the bad sound from his
"complete" performance of 1951 (shockingly cut). It's a great
performance anyway, and many of the changes are obviously meant to highlight
harmonic details or heighten a mood by simplifying or re-enforcing what Wagner
wrote. I'm sure had anyone dared tell Victor that he was distorting Saint Richard
he would, in rage, have lifted his arms and flapped them in that person's face
(he was known not to bathe).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Some years ago I was lucky enough to hear Riccardo Muti conduct </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>Il
Trovatore</i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> at La Scala. Now, most people think of </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>The Troubadour </i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">in terms of the
fatal movie starring The Marx brothers. It is a by word for silliness in opera; and those
musically inclined are inclined to call it “rum-ti-um” or "barrel organ" music.
One could hardly blame nasty Alma Mahler if she thought the usual Trovatore was
banal and rough. On a preposterous recent discussion of recordings of this
opera on Opera Hell, only I pointed out that the “definitive” recording this
one or that one was shrieking about was heavily cut, full of wrong notes,
botched rhythms, coarse simplifications, re-orchestrations, stretches not
written by Verdi but “traditional”. Why would these things matter, Trovatore
(opera?) is not art but grotesquerie. It isn’t about anything but whether the
tenor sings at least one and better two unwritten high Cs (no one cares if he
trills and phrases with the breadth and passion the composer asks for in the
gorgeous, elegiac aria right before the one with the unwritten high Cs – no
one cares that in the performances these freaks were screaming about that high C “Pira”
sequence was cut in half and badly mangled in execution. It depends for its
profile on the tenor’s being able to sing rapid sixteenth notes but few can; as are
all the ensembles in the opera, this one is carefully structured for maximum
musical/theatrical effect. But who cares about that?) </span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">And none of these horrors, these murderers of art cared about
something that obsessed Verdi: the words. Of course nothing was more important
than the prima donna. Zinka Milanov was greatest despite her words being mere
gobbledegook, her phrasing provincial, her manner cruder. No! Greater was
Leontyne Price, sincere but with awkward very American pronunciation. Though
unlike Milanov, Price sounds like she understands what she is singing, she does
mangle words, and in her later records the growling at the bottom and the ugly
contrivance of getting into and out of this faux chest register breaks the
line – though she understands that too. No, never!!! Best was Montserrat
Caballe, though she drops consonants and changes vowels and counts less well
than even Milanov, so Verdi’s beautifully sculpted intensely felt phrases count
for very little. But high notes!! Soft ones! Loud ones! That’s the ticket!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">At the Muti Trovatore he was working with a good, not great cast,
though he had rehearsed them himself, playing the piano and working now on
words, then on dynamics, on rhythm, working constantly for expression based –
yes -- on authenticity as well as accuracy. He had studied the manuscript and other early
scores, looked at the notes singers Verdi knew made on their scores after
working with him, above all he had sought to feel the music and the drama as
the composer, who loved these characters and felt their destinies keenly did. Muti had <i style="font-weight: bold;">MEMORIZED </i>the play the opera was based on!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">That is El Trovador by Antonio Garcia </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Gutiérrez from 1836.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.1875px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 19px;">Gutiérrez was influenced by Victor Hugo and adopted the same style -- very remote from the narrative style of our time. On the one hand there is a foreground -- impossible love, conflict, duels, oaths and vengeance -- dispatched with vigor and intensity. Scene to Scene, the opera Il Trovatore (more compact than the play) makes perfect sense. These are scenes of intense feeling. But there is an elaborate back story. This is not dealt with quickly but luxuriously. What is happening in the "now" of the play is motivated in large part by age old feuds, betrayals, a longing for vengeance passed down from generation to generation. Madness runs in these families as much as blood lust does, and a fierce pride forestalls a quiet talk of Sunday afternoon 'round the newly polished dining room table where conciliation is celebrated by a tearful prayer. Satisfaction is not achieved by the Kiss of Piece but by plunging a knife into someone's throat. This of course is all explained in pages long monologues where one character or another explains and explores his or her lineage, the family glory gained and lost by the gory malfeasance of enemy intrigue, itself motivated by a history of broken promises, wanton cruelty, insanity and ambition. The plays move back and forth between effective stage action, and long, long, long stories of the ill deeds of long ago.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;">Verdi, working first with Salvatore Cammarano, who died, and then a very cooperative young man named Leone Bardare, did a very good job of compressing the play and using those long narratives to musical effect. The scene in act two where Azucena tells Manrico not quite the entire truth of her mother's death and her own attempt to avenge it, is a thrilling display of romantic wildness, obsession and weirdness. Leonora's story of how she came to know Manrico is managed in an interestingly shaped aria. Above all through the music one comes to believe in these characters, to understand their psychologies, and as Verdi sought, not only to be moved by their destinies but to confront the malignancy that lurks everywhere in the world. But this can happen <i style="font-weight: bold;">only</i> if the work is presented absolutely complete, in the form the composer envisaged, its numbers shaped, arched, inflected with an abundance of controlled emotion. Opera, music, asks us (from one point of view at least) to make this leap into a sea of knowing beyond what small concerns we will take to bed, to the bank, to the the grave. Verdi actually achieves this as is evident from a carefully and accurately edited score but it takes a great musician working with people willing to understand as he does to make this happen in time.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;">I was astounded when I heard Verdi's Trovatore for the first time in reality at Scala. I had heard Price and Caballe and Corelli and all the others the record collectors worshiped variously and together. I had heard the mangled records. I'd read the score and sensed something but yet here it was, not just entertaining for the tunes, or for the vocal feats achieved by leaving so much out but profound.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;">I talked with Muti. I mentioned that </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I found the accompaniments to be of the utmost delicacy
and beauty. The rhythms were wonderfully inflected as only a great pianist
might inflect Chopin. “But of course,” he said, “Verdi loved and
studied Chopin and he is all through this </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;">music</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">”.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But doing that with an orchestra live is no mean feat. I was
struck for example by the gossamer accompaniment to “d’amore sul ali”; the
beautiful preparation for the key change, the perfectly judged corona over
the 8th note b flat tied to the 16th b natural; the perfect silence
(dotted 16th rest) and then the launch into the major at “com’aura di speranza”, and then the marvelously sprung figures at “io desta alle
memorie”. In particular I was amazed at his use of gradations
of piano and pianissimo and the slight hesitations on the off beats
for the accompaniment which can sound like dreary um-pah-pah, um-pah-pah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“But don’t you understand?” Muti asked, “The entire opera is
a memory. There are all these stories, starting with Ferrando then with The Gypsy, Azucena, then there is Manrico, Il Trovatore, in Mal Regendo, stories about death
and ghost voices and loss, and then here this Leonora is saying, "‘let the
memories, even the dreams of our love be comfort.'"</span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“When you say Chopin,” he continued, “what is most memorable
there? The Nocturnes. Trovatore is a night picture, where the shadows fall
everywhere and the melancholy, the smell, the sense of death cannot
be escaped. What are this troubadour’s first words? "‘I am deserted on
the earth’". "That’s what he sings, "‘col rio destino in Guerra, at war with
evil destiny’".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">"Look, he is singing at night to his girlfriend and
he says, “well I am cursed, outcast and am going to die, so you might
as well give me hope, not ‘I am sexy and so are you, let’s make a baby!’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“This nocturne is
in all the music, the limpidity, the expression, the singing. Not only the
soloists, I mean the orchestra they must sing. You think about Rigoletto
and Traviata; there are all these big orchestra punctuations. But in Trovatore
there is so much silence, and the strings, and the clarinet, they sing.
And I work from the new edition out of<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><st1:city><st1:place><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Chicago</span></st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;">. In the usual score there are <i><u>5</u></i>
piano markings for Conte’s entrance, “tace la notte”, but in the original
score there are <b><u>15</u></b> pianos. What does Verdi tell us? It is all silence. The
silence of the tomb. For they will all die. And so my critics think it is
just and fitting that all these people can go on the stage and
scream?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">"They say all this ‘come scritto’ about me. You
know when I do Tell, I ask the tenor to die on the stage singing all
those high notes. But consider who this Trovatore is. He is a poor serenader
among the gypsies. He is not at the anvil. He does not have
15 illegitimate children. He is alone with this crazy old lady. Look at
his music, listen to it. Is “Ah, si, ben mio?” a warrior? Would Otello
sing that or Radames? This is a poet. And what does he say: "‘let us
be nice and sweet right now because it is very likely I am going to
die soon’". "This he sings on his wedding day to his bride! Then he runs off
to save this crazy old lady he is not even sure is his mother – and five
minutes later he is in prison and going to be killed? This is someone
who sings and holds High Cs? Where is the truth in that? Verdi is great
because it is always true. And I want to find his truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 19px;">For me, <u style="font-weight: bold;">that</u> is "authenticity". And that's enough.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5704055254870121256.post-54472381458415798932013-04-26T07:07:00.000-07:002013-04-28T22:51:06.863-07:00MADNESS (1): SCHUMANN, KATE HEPBURN, BRAHMS AND CIPHERS<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iGmGd195K9i3OwuaFyM4t7hpKmJqC4Cn5-N9HIcTKr7H0yRdefUemGk821OnkFYFhrlqXqJu2D1zok4GZbhfO9QCFo39dClTkNXPzEbAmhTd7XYHVxsr9AeFLKGThgdbxEshyywCbanE/s1600/Schu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iGmGd195K9i3OwuaFyM4t7hpKmJqC4Cn5-N9HIcTKr7H0yRdefUemGk821OnkFYFhrlqXqJu2D1zok4GZbhfO9QCFo39dClTkNXPzEbAmhTd7XYHVxsr9AeFLKGThgdbxEshyywCbanE/s1600/Schu.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
(pic: Robert Schumann)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">I, the Widder, thank all who have joined
up. Rather brave, it seems to me. Just for info, I am on Facebook as Mrs John
Claggart. Ahi! Facebook! Quelle </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>cliché !!!<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Widder could
use a poke, but not cybernetically!!!! But those looking for a disembodied "friend" can look me up. I mostly post You Tube links, some surprising, but my hate boils over too, so that's fun.</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">I have been most moved by a film of the
old Alfred Cortot, playing "Der Dichter Spricht".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8E_0glY3nI">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8E_0glY3nI</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/o8E_0glY3nI/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/o8E_0glY3nI&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/o8E_0glY3nI&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">This is the </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 19px;">the thirteenth and </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">last piece of the </span><b style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"><i>Kinderszenen</i></b><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"> (Scenes
of Childhood) composed in 1838 by Schumann; and here, Cortot is filmed giving a
masterclass (in French, but his intent is clear). It's a very simple piece,
which he acknowledges. We can assume the child is asleep. Somehow,
through touch and intent, Cortot suggests -- through </span><i style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">touch</i><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">, for
this is the piano -- that </span><i style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">percussive </i><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">instrument -- "you
must dream this piece, rather than play it." Notes become spirit
and immortality -- is there such a thing? Or is that merely what we
dream as children, when sleep has obliterated time, indeed, has cured us, oh,
so temporarily from that disease called consciousness?
Neither life nor death matters for a little while but perhaps there is
something fluttering about us that we can almost touch, "spirit"
Cortot says. The adult who plays, in this case a very old man, 81, knows,
that we will live, most of us, coarse and silly lives, make serious and stupid
mistakes, lose the game, and that we will die. But in playing this piece he
must convey that impossible hope we all have in dreams -- the good ones ---
that suspicion, that just beyond is ... well, who knows? This little piece
ends. Or rather as Cortot says, "fades away"</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">Roland Barthes, who loved Schumann, wrote of this piece,
"Schumann is truly the musician of solitary intimacy, of the amorous and
intimate soul that speaks to itself...."</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
The frightening Theodor Adorno (nee Wiesengrund) makes a distinction between
the "false" in art: that merely depicts, and the "true",
which <i>speaks</i>. He seems to have thought that the earlier scenes,
charming as they are, are standard genre scenes of a<b> </b>Biedermeier childhood.
It is in this final movement that Schumann tells the truth, gently casts
aside <i>the artist </i>pose and even his announced theme, and seeks
to express in this simple style, his deepest, private thoughts. Adorno thought<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Der Dichter Spricht</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>was an early form of
"expressionism"</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
Schumann, in a very simple way, instructs us to listen, perhaps differently to
this piece. The one before it, <i>Kind im Enschlummern</i> (child
dozing off), ends unexpectedly on the subdominant (A minor) not the tonic (E minor).
This is a cadential dissonance, which means that the piece is left unresolved.
A question hangs in the air.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Der
Dichter Spricht</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>is in G
major, the prevailing key of the work, and since this is the final piece it is
where the work has been tending all along. It contains as Cortot remarks,
questions, but no answers; perhaps no questions have answers in life. The lucky
among us fade away to nothing. Heart stops. Body bleeds out. Brain collapses.
It is important, perhaps crucial, merely to have raised the questions,
bravely, without expecting answers.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
Schumann was a double spirited creator. For one thing he had aspired for a time
to be a poet; music made that impossible for him, it engulfed him. His access
to odd or emotionally immediate states of mind may have led to his later
breakdown. For a long time, scholars asserted that Schumann was bipolar, and
they used his febrile, self contradictory work to justify a popular theory that<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b><i>all</i></b> creative
artists are bipolar (but not bi), though not all end up in insane asylums, as
Schumann did. Holders of this theory point to "fatigue" in his late
work (the violin concerto for example), and notice that he and many other
creators experience "manic" moods, where they are very productive,
brave, sometimes "original"; and "depressive" periods where
their creativity lessens, even dries up, and any work produced is
"tired", "halfhearted", not "fully realized".</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">(pic, the young Clara Wieck Schumann)</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;"></span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">Looking at the
short <b><i>Kinderscenzen,</i></b> these people argue that there is a feeling
of spontaneous invention, though Schumann worked hard and generated
more pieces than he used. And that there is role play
and disassociation, two symptoms of bipolar disturbance. T</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 19px;">hese people argue that some of the pieces are "manic". </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">The
composer as child, tender dreamer (the famous </span><b style="line-height: 17.6pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Träumerei</span></i></b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">,
also the opening and closing musical theme in the 1947 Hollywood film <b>Song
of Love</b> starring Katherine Hepburn as Mrs.Schumann</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">)<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
(Cortot plays <i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Träumerei)</span></i><br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PoAt5zbRXzs&playnext=1&list=PLA0BC6A592135539A">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PoAt5zbRXzs&playnext=1&list=PLA0BC6A592135539A</a><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">Robert was never an earner and was thought eccentric. The 1830's
were his best decade. He accompanied his far more successful and
practical wife, the famous pianist, Clara Wieck, to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"> where she enjoyed enormous
acclaim. On their return, in late 1844, he abandoned his critical writing,
brilliant as it was, and began to have periods of sustained exhaustion,
shivering, a terror of death and worst, for a composer, tinnitus. He
confided in his diary that he heard the A5 (a very, very high A) clanging
almost continuously in his ears.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(pic: young Brahms)</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">On September 30, 1853, the twenty year old Johannes Brahms, a
genius certainly, but what was probably more immediately apparent, a beauty who
looked younger than his years, knocked on the Schumanns'
door, unannounced It was love at first sight on all sides. Later,
Brahms worked closely with Clara to popularize Schumann's work (a difficult
task, the English in particular hated it). Some assume Brahms and Clara had
either a consummated fling, or an intensely neurotic, sexually
obsessive but tensely restrained involvement. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt;">The Schumanns were awed by Brahms' talent, though even their
connections did not ease his way to prominence. Much later, in 1869, Brahms
wrote one of his most popular pieces, The Alto Rhapsody, as a wedding
present for Julie Schumann, daughter of his close friends. The text from Goethe
-- a confession of lifelong loneliness by a man pessimistic about finding love
-- and the undertone of heat broken longing, has led many to assume that Brahms
was secretly in love with Julie. But I wonder if this was simply a cover; the
love of his life may have been Clara and this moving piece may have been about
the impossibility of either expressing that love openly, or perhaps, even fully
to each other. </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;">Marian Anderson sings The Alto Rhapsody, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">San Francisco Symphony Orchestra, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Municipal Chorus of San Francisco, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Pierre Monteux, conductor. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Recorded March 3, 1945.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;">It is forbidden to speculate on whether Robert Schumann and Brahms also were in love. Schumann confessed to his diary that he had indulged homosexual experimentation as a young man, though young ladies also figured in his imagination (the prolonged and bitter effort to marry Clara </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;">against her father's wishes, </span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;">two days before she was free of needing his permission, suggests what Nietzsche</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;"> might have called "self overcoming" through terrible struggle and upheaval. There are those who would snark that Schumann was "trying too hard to prove...") The Schumanns had eight children, the girls were more stable than the boys, and Robert apparently loved Clara at first. Somewhat peculiarly, given all those children, his postlude to <i style="font-weight: bold;">Widmung</i> quotes Schubert's <i>Ave Maria</i>, a hymn to the <i>Virgin </i>Mary, odd in a non-Catholic -- and then -- Clara was needed to keep things going and money coming in through her well compensated tours. She was made of steel. Eventually he seems to have come to resent her.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;">This is from the movie: SONG OF LOVE with Kate Hepburn. Perhaps the Widder Claggart, one of these days, will tell of an August in her youth, spent with Kate at Fenwick, invited officially by her, but really by her playwright brother, the too aptly named Dick. I love my small band of followers, but perhaps need more to venture into autobiography.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3eOggcKLqk">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3eOggcKLqk</a><br />
<br />
(<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">Katharine Hepburn - Clara Schumann, Henry Daniell - Franz Liszt, Robert Walker - Johannes Brahms, Paul Henreid - Robert Schumann</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">"Widmung" Schumann versus Liszt Transcription)</span></div>
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</div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Brahms hardly
had a conventional sex life, female prostitutes figured heavily in it (It's
possible he played in the parlors of brothels early on to make ends meet --
some scholars have doubted this story, but Brahms told versions of it
throughout his life -- self dramatization? But at the time, it was a shameful
confession for someone finally acclaimed as a great master. I believe Brahms.
One wonders if some of the "trade" parading those parlors or dance
halls were transvestites, a typical way gay young men sold themselves when the
need arose. In later years he cashed his royalty checks and kept the money in a
closet in his </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Vienna</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> apartment. The working
girls simply helped themselves and thus adored him, no doubt choking on the
composer's excessive cigar smoking. His addiction to cigars
occasioned a painful, lonely death. Well, how does the </span><em><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">cliché </span></em><span style="font-size: 14pt;">go? Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar! And
sometimes...?)<b><o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">And yet, given the softness of his features, his androgyny as a
young man, can one view his frustration and longing for female love as a
"screen"? And, as successful as he came to be, surely it would not
have been impossible for him to find a loving woman. After all, Alma Mahler
gave her virginity to her composition teacher, Alexander Von Zemlinsky, mainly,
perhaps, to shock her parents -- he was considered "the ugliest man in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">Vienna</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14.0pt;">". But she went on to marry the
second ugliest man in Vienna, Gustav Mahler, though, no doubt, his power was a
potent aphrodisiac Also strange, both men were Jews, and Alma's
private writing reveals a considerable degree of
Antisemitism. Of course, she betrayed Mahler with a much better looking, younger
man, broke his heart, but still... is one to think the Great Brahms couldn't
have done better somewhat earlier but in the same milieu? </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><b>(</b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mahler-A-Life-Jonathan-Carr/dp/1590205146/ref=cm_cr-mr-title" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #996633;">Mahler: A Life</span></a><b> </b>by Jonathan Carr uses
over-looked and recently discovered documents by </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Alma</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> to paint quite a portrait, though it's not a
surprise that she was a monster, the degree to which she was is amazing.)</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">One of my favorite Schumann works is Carnaval, composed in
1834-35. This amazing group of 22 pieces (only 20 are numbered), most of them
titled, revolves around three ciphers of four notes each. They are threaded
through most of the pieces but not all. The first, Preambule, does not have
them but instead contains an homage to Franz Schubert (Schumann was an early
champion, and he chose Schubert's Waltzes of Longing -- <i>Sehnsuchtswalzer --</i> initially for
a set of variations, which gave him the opening theme for Carnaval. A key to
the work then, longing within a festive context.)</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Schubert has been thought of as a candidate for homosexuality,
though he died at 31, probably of syphilis. It does seem as though he was, now
and then, "kept" by better off men in a circle that seems full of
intense feelings between males. Schubert's letters to a young man named
Schober, a divisive figure in the circle, who lived with Schubert
(supported him?) for a time, suggest an erotic charge between them. Searchers
after Schubert's gayness have noted that the cafes and bars his entirely male
circle frequented were also frequented by transvestites; that the
arrest of four members of this circle including the composer, though ostensibly
political, may have also been for "immorality" (gayness). Young women
were conspicuous by their absence in Schubert's Bohemian group and the composer
doesn't appear to have had a serious girlfriend; a very early attempt to marry
a soprano is used by the "no genius can be gay" group as proof of
something, overlooking the number of gay men and women of gifts who have been
married or who, when young, considered marriage (and there is no indication
there was a sexual charge between them as there was between the composer --
nicknamed <span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">"Schwämmerl" --
"mushroomie" by his pals -- and Schober.) Schumann might have heard
rumors; and if he thought Schubert was gay, he isn't the only composer to have
"intuited" that, Benjamin Britten thought so too.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In Carnaval, among the characters is an old girl friend of
Schumann's, "Estrelita" (she was Ernestine von Fricken), that's
number 13. That's followed by a movement marked animato and
titled Reconnaisance -- apparently they bump into one another at a party and
run away from each other! And she's followed by those commedia figures,
Pantelone and Columbine, we've already run into Pierrot and Arlequin, and it's
all tending to the thrilling finale, an attack on "philistines" (we
live in a society full of them, I think Herr Schumann was luckier), this is
called<b><i> Marche des "Davidsbündler" contre les Philistins</i></b>,
number twenty, which quotes a 17th century waltz, some of the earlier sections
of Carnival and then whirls into a wild, whirling dance of life and defiance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">There are two sections that I especially love: One is a tribute to </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Frèdèric</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> C</span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">hopin and in fact is called </span><b style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>Chopin</i></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> (number 12). Schumann was a great and prescient music critic, and adored</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Chopin. Alas, Chopin didn't think of Schumann's output as music. But there is such restless longing in the music (it is marked agitato and is part imitation of and part comment on Chopin's songful style married to Schumann's double nature, a testing, fast bass moving against a lush melody).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1d6P788cpZg">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1d6P788cpZg</a></div>
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">That is Cortot.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 13.5pt;">
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">nother part of Caranval is called <b><i>Sphinxes</i></b>. This has three sections, one bar each -- no key, no tempo, no other indications. </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">Schumann seems to have wanted listeners to intuit what was going on there</span><span style="font-size: 18px;"> and it usually isn't played. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Cortot plays it, and so does Rachmaninoff. and some think these pianists were arrogant to improvise around these notes, since solutions must be found as to just what should sound.</span></div>
<div style="font-size: medium;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<b><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sphinxes</span></i></b><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">is at the core of the work, and the
"theme" of Carnaval is ciphers, mystery, a casting off of public
identity -- a convenient cloak for getting along in a society. In Carnaval as
celebrated in history, people wore masks, dressed up, even cross dressed. Men
can be feminine under their disguises, women can dispense with the required
reserve, and an entire personality can whirl itself into a creative flux:
neither male nor female, good nor bad, fully itself or completely other.
Carnaval is, for me, a triumph of what only great artists can do, abandon all
the rules of what "I" or "You" must be, play, sing, act,
joke, tease, mystify, dance -- and escape gravity. It is
a phenomenal work. So naturally, anyone who creates something like
that must be nuts, and should be put in a mental asylum. An enormous number
of researchers into the workings of the mind (!) right up to the
present day, seem to feel that is only just.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">However, Schumann did cooperate. On </span><st1:date day="27" month="2" style="line-height: 17.6pt;" year="1854"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">27 February 1854</span></st1:date><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">, he jumped into the Rhine. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">Rescued by boatmen and taken home, he asked to be taken to an asylum for the insane. He entered Dr. Franz Richarz's sanatorium in Endenich, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">a quarter of Bonn, and remained there until he died on </span><st1:date day="29" month="7" style="line-height: 17.6pt;" year="1856"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">July 29, 1856</span></st1:date><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;"> at the age of 46. </span><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">But he had voluntarily committed himself and early on, to a considerable extent, he recovered. He might have discharged himself but he didn't feel "cured". Then again, he hated where he was being held and repeatedly asked friends and family to have him transferred somewhere else. Who was he trying to get away from? Himself? Clara? His identity as the man of a family where the woman wore the pants? Schumann was convinced that he was misunderstood by the physicians who were supposed to cure him — and there is evidence to support his claim. But when he was upset, the ministrations of the young male trustees calmed him. He asked for Clara but she didn't want to visit. No one knows why. Finally, perhaps succumbing to pressure, she did visit her husband </span><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;">once, two days before his death.</span></span></span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGwzedoq42c&playnext=1&list=PL4799F8C88F4BE80A">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGwzedoq42c&playnext=1&list=PL4799F8C88F4BE80A</a></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xtyhPhXW38&list=PL4799F8C88F4BE80A">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xtyhPhXW38&list=PL4799F8C88F4BE80A</a><br />
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gv46kN7N_J0&list=PL4799F8C88F4BE80A">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gv46kN7N_J0&list=PL4799F8C88F4BE80A</a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;">(Carnaval, recorded by Sergei Rachmaninoff in 1929).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtu6uhS2v7VTrI70ij_luIk7y_BjJdtlW0GMnAnhXBTmjOMeE79gH0QRjz-yB4At5iBJTjYZh0tWnBKA3s3gRIk70vIMpAwr9gzib6ZJ2414nhVxK-1K1H-gX-z3khp-MO42cBfsccTNzM/s1600/ClaraOld.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtu6uhS2v7VTrI70ij_luIk7y_BjJdtlW0GMnAnhXBTmjOMeE79gH0QRjz-yB4At5iBJTjYZh0tWnBKA3s3gRIk70vIMpAwr9gzib6ZJ2414nhVxK-1K1H-gX-z3khp-MO42cBfsccTNzM/s1600/ClaraOld.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;">The older Clara.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Schumann
wasn't well regarded in his lifetime but when he finally came to be considered
a great composer, a vast ocean of books were written about his mental
condition. As recently as 2004 Dr. Richard Kohan of Cornell and Julliard
asserts that Carnaval "could not have been written by someone who did not
suffer from bipolar disorder". He calls it, "practically a catalog of
bipolar symptomatology". In a delectable and
sadly necessary marketing ploy, The Los Angeles Symphony Orchestra
and the National Orchestra used "bipolar Schumann" as the basis for
mini-festivals. Don't come for the music, but for the insanity! Using the title
of a sentimental and foolish film, the Baltimore Symphony presented something
called<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b><i>Schumann's Beautiful
Mind</i></b>. If one accepts that Schumann's music is great because he was
crazy then I don't know what that tells us about how arts are valued in<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b><i>Fecund America Today</i></b>.
Though Robert really wanted more appreciation for his work, I don't know how
comforting this kind of acclaim would have been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">However,
not every investigator thinks the issue was bipolar illness. In 1906,
the German psychiatrist Paul Julius Möbius, who thought that mental illness was
typical of hereditary degeneration, published a “pathographie” of the composer.
“Listening to Schumann’s music,” Möbius wrote, “instructs one that Schumann was
an extremely nervous person. It seems evident that from youth onward
Schumann was mentally ill.” And he 'diagnosed" Schumann, without ever
meeting him, of course, with dementia praecox, which we call
schizophrenia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">There was some
disagreement. The Nazis held Schumann up as a shining example of German
biological superiority. They lost little time in passing a law that mandated
sterilization for anyone diagnosed with schizophrenia or manic-depressive
illness (psychiatrists were battling over what suit best fit Schumann long
after he was dust). By 1945, almost 400,000 people had undergone forced
sterilization. At least 70,000 had been murdered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">But the Nazis needed Schumann. They had banned Mendelssohn's "Jewish" Violin Concerto. so Joseph Goebbels, the propaganda minister, arranged the premiere of Schumann's Violin Concerto in 1937. Nazi psychiatrists (I seem to have paid a few of them a lot of money) held that Schumann's troubles and death were brought on by a series of strokes.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 17.6pt; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">However, the American villain isn't a Nazi, but a sweet academic genital female known as Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison, a professor at Johns Hopkins University whose hit was a book of essays about Schumann sweetly titled </span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 17.6pt;">“Touched With Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament” (Free Press) from 1993.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 17.6pt;">It is probably the best-known study
to argue for connections between bipolar disorder and genius. Performances and
marketing of “manic-depressive music” are largely indebted to her work.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 17.6pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But were no records kept about Schumann's condition when he was confined? Did no professionals of that era keep notes stemming from interviews with and observations of him?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">In 1991 Schumann’s "lost" medical records from the Endenich asylum resurfaced. Aribert
Reimann, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">composer of the impressive opera, <b>Lear,</b><b> </b>though I am very fond of <b>Melusine</b>, and also of <b>The Castle,</b> whose grandfather’s sister had married a son of Schumann's doctor, Richarz, inherited the records on the condition he keep them
secret. Reimann eventually offered them to the </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Berlin</span></st1:placename><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><st1:placetype><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Academy</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> of the Arts. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In 2006, 150 years
after Schumann’s death, the records were published in their entirety (a few pages were evidently lost during World War II). Many
scholars believe they indicate that Schumann died of neurosyphilis. But because
conclusive diagnosis of syphilis was not possible until the early 20th century,
the records cannot resolve all diagnostic disagreements. Published alongside
the records are analyses whose conflicting readings dispel notions that the
records relay straightforward or easy truths.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 17.6pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">According to studies by the musicologist and literary scholar Eric
Sams (author of one of my favorite books on that eternal puzzle, William
Shakespeare,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><b><i>The Real
Shakespeare, retrieving the early years, 1564-1594,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i></b>but also of <i>The Songs
of Robert Schumann</i> (1969; revised 1993), and a brilliant consideration
of The Songs of Hugo Wolf, who also ended up in an asylum,<i> </i><span style="background: white;">Schumann's symptoms during his terminal illness and
death appear consistent with those of mercury poisoning, mercury at
this time being a common treatment for syphilis and other conditions. Sams also
wonders why none of the posthumous pychoanalysts looked at Schumann's
autopsy. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">That exists and suggests that he had a "gelatinous" tumor at the base of the brain;
it may have represented a<span class="apple-converted-space"> colloid cyst, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">a<span class="apple-converted-space"> craniopharynggioma, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">a<span class="apple-converted-space"> chordoma, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;">or a chordoidmeningioma -- </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space">meningiomas are known to produce musical auditory hallucinations,
such as Schumann complained of.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sams was a student of ciphers and in an interview given to John Tibbets for a book from 2004 called <b><i>The World of Robert Schumann, </i></b>remarked: “I
began as a linguist in the intelligence corps but I didn’t hear cipher in
Schumann until I heard the D Minor Symphony and what you hear in that is what
everyone had heard in different generations. You hear monothematicism, to use
one word for it. You hear the same thing and the same theme and almost in the
same meaningful sense over and over again repeated almost obsessively. You hear
it at the beginning of the Symphony most clearly, and what it says is C,B, A,
G#, A—in other words, C, something, A, something, A, and it’s perfectly clear
that what it’s actually saying is Clara. I don’t mean that it’s actually
depicting her in her various moods, but I mean that Schumann throughout the
length of the Symphony had his wife and his relationship to her and his own
feelings of guilt and unworthiness in that connection and his hope for later
triumph and future happiness all go into the Symphony, and I think they all
come to the ears of the listener through an awareness of that theme."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sams continues, "and when he comes to the end to see the theme again in the
major—the last movement is kind of a triumphant finale—and what it seems to say
is that he has been—and I’m
sure he had good reason for thinking this—that he has been guilty and unworthy
of Clara. But in the
future, the music seems to say, all is going to be happiness, radiance, and light,
and “I will prove worthy of her.” In thinking of the Clara Symphony, he isn’t
just saying things about her; he’s saying things about himself and their
relationship and making a programatic type of music pattern. That’s as I hear
the music."</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">If one views the organization of pitches as a code (and that seems
just) then music is full of secret meanings. They may be intuited, and perhaps
it is in the nature of the artist using code (as opposed to the spy in a war)
that one shouldn't expect consistency or clarity. But codes, symbols, dreams,
illusions, "madness" mean multiple things. They signify the
uncertainty of life lived as we live it; they call into question the very
notion of "reality". Oh, we must label things, we humans, never more
so than in the idiot crammed </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 14pt;">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> of today. But were there superior beings
watching us, in on the joke, how they must be laughing. And if some tiny mote
of Schumann became "spirit" as Cortet suggests we may all, somehow,
become spirits, perhaps that spirit finally has some joy knowing that what he
created wasn't noise, or silliness or "not music", but a gateway to
the safe danger the sane madness that art must offer us to be art.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Albert Innauratohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00372127500758892700noreply@blogger.com4