Oddities

First, some of my old posts are "acting up."   Words (especially in italics) have been roaming around appearing in odd spots that they did not start in.     Mostly, they attach themselves to other words in italics.    And the weirdest part?    They don't do it at the same time.    Once I discovered it, I read through all of them and corrected the ones I saw.    Then another one appeared.    I'm not kidding and I'm not crazy.    WTF?

Second, has anyone noticed that more famous, popular, successful and / or working classical composers have names that begin with  the letter "B"?  [My criteria is they have had or have now recordings of their music or are still performed regularly somewhere in the world.   In fact, I have performed or have recordings of all but three of them.]  Milton Babbitt, J. S. Bach, C.P. E. Bach, (and assorted brothers and sons), Leonardo Balada, Mily Alexeyevich Balakirev, Michael William Balfe, Samuel Barber, Bela Bartok, Arnold Bax, Amy Beach, Jack Beeson, Ludwig van Beethoven, Vincenzo Bellini, Georg Benda, Alban Berg, Luciano Berio, Arthur Benjamin, George Benjamin, Richard Rodney Bennett, Arthur Berger, Erik Bergman, Lennox Berkeley, Michael Berkeley, Hector Berlioz, Leonard Bernstein, Franz Berwald, Franz von Biber, William Billings, Gilles Binchois, Harrison Birtwistle, Georges Bizet, Boris Blacher, Howard Blake, Arthur Bliss, Marc Blitzstein, Ernest Bloch, Karl-Birger Blomdahl, John Blow, Luigi Boccherini, Adrien Boieldieu, Arrigo Boito, William Bolcom, Alexander Borodin, Pierre Boulez, Rutland Boughton, Paul Bowles, William Boyce, Johannes Brahms, Walter Braunfels, Tomas Breton, Havergal Brian, Frank Bridge, Benjamin Britten, Max Bruch, Anton Bruckner, Willy Burkhard, Ferruccio Busoni, George Butterworth, Dietrich Buxtehude, William Byrd...have I forgotten any?   

As an "oh by the way", Walter Braunfels was a  victim of the Holocaust: his work is just being "re-discovered."    More and more recordings are appearing and his music is getting more and more performances.    He wrote beautiful music and he is worth investigating, as are many composers killed or displaced by the Holocaust.     A whole generation was "lost" and we should preserve and perform this music, 1)  because it is worthwhile and 2) it shines as a testament to survival in the face of human evil, even if only the music has survived.     Try to keep it alive by supporting the artists who are performing and recording it.    (Anne-Sophie von Otter is one.)  To start, go on Amazon and type in "Entartete Musik" and a wonderful series of recordings will pop up.    This is good (sometimes great) music...truly.

4th music

Is it just me, or does anyone else dread those 4th of JULY concerts with their poor miking, where Stars and Stripes Forever gets blasted to bits, Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue sounds like it's being sightread and Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture (which has nothing to do with America!) blares out as the fireworks fly above and the cannons roar.    (Real ones, of course.)    Even the New York Philharmonic can sound scrappy.    Don't get me wrong--I love fireworks.    And other than The Stars and Stripes, which I loathe) all the familiar pieces are good works.    But not outside.     Where people are only half listening anyway and the orchestra is only half-playing it in response.   I long for a piece by Howard Hanson or even Leonard Bernstein (who does make a very occasional appearance) or Samuel Barber--American pieces maybe not everyone has heard.    But that is not the point of these "celebrations".    It's about comfort food for the musically illiterate.    "If it was good enough for Grandpa..."    Why not, say, Barber's Violin Concerto and Hanson's Third Symphony and Paul Creston's A Rumor?    Then 1812 Overture if you have to have it.    But no one will ever listen to me.    People want their hot dogs and hamburgers and barbeque and Gershwin (but not Concerto in F) and their 1812.     Why not just tape last year's show and stay at home in the air conditioning?    Or listen to Hanson's Third Symphony?     To my mind, a better way to celebrate.   (I'll probably go to where I can watch the fireworks and NOT listen to the concert.     I hear that awful piccolo solo in my nightmares as it is.)

Ondine

Hans Werner Henze (one of the great composers of the more "modernist" side) wrote a beautiful, dramatic, romantic three act ballet in his youth to Frederick Ashton's choreography for Margot Fonteyn to dance--Ondine.    Henze and Ashton worked closely, going as far as to work the "script" to the very minute each section should take. Henze watched the Sadler's Wells company dance and rehearse many times and studied how music supported their style of dancing. All this intense work paid off: Ondine was a triumph for Henze and Fonteyn and it had been in the repertoire of the soon renamed Royal Ballet since it's premiere in 1958. It has been presented by them (and others) several times since, and now a DVD of a recent Royal Ballet production using the original sets and costumes (and, of course, dance) has appeared on the Opus Arte label.

First, the music is perhaps the most "conventional" he ever set. It is tonal in its approach, if not completely in its construction, and it soars and floats and roars and laughs and memorably invokes the sea like many other great works (Peter Grimes comes to mind.) It is beautiful, sometimes achingly so. It never seems padded or academic and each act moves from beginning to end with a sure hand for such a young composer writing his first (and only) long ballet. (He did write shorter less conventional ones.) No doubt this is Ashton's influence. Still, as music, it is a joy--not a 19th Century pastiche, but a powerful piece of its time which seems as fresh today as it must have then. To try to explain its "sound world", think of it as the offspring of Stravinsky and Prokofiev. Only the most conservative, musically ignorant listener will complain. Even for someone who does not like ballet, the music alone would be worth the price of the DVD. The Orchestra of The Royal Opera House conducted by the old hand Barry Wordsworth plays magnificently and the sound is glorious. It was recorded in DTS Digital Surround but the "mere" stereo has wonderful presence.

The ballet itself has occasionally and inexplicably come into carping, harsh criticism which I feel is unwarranted. What are these people watching...or wanting? It is a memorable showcase for a prima ballerina, and that is it's chief appeal. And what choreography for her! No wonder companies keep presenting it. But it isn't it's only appeal. The dance moves are always interesting, sometimes quite memorable, and always apt. The secondary characters all have fine dances. The divertissement from Act Three is wonderful. Tirrenio, the Lord of the Sea, has important moments and his final fury, accompanied by the corps as creatures from the water, is one of the most powerful moments of the entire work. Two weaknesses in my opinion keep it from being "perfect." The "hero" has no great defining solo, though his parts in the many duets are imaginative. And the "other woman" who causes the tragedy is a little too obviously designed for an older dancer with somewhat limited facilities. Her role is far more mime than dance and the poorer for it. These do not impair enjoyment in the piece, though they are noticeable. Still, I love Ondine. All of it. I think its detractors are fools. Harsh words, but I mean them. The glorious parts do make for a satisfying whole.

About this performance, almost all praise. Miyako Yoshida is a terrific Ondine. The very fact that she is of a different race than the other dancers reinforces the difference between the beautiful, mercurial creation of the sea and the fallible human creatures of the land. She is beyond criticism for all but those who refuse to admit any ballerinas of today can handle the great roles of the past. She conveys every mood while executing the movement impeccably. Yes, I've seen the (very cut) "movie" version with Fonteyn. She was wonderful and one-of-a-kind. She's gone. I believe she would have been overjoyed for Yoshida. Time to stop using the past to tear everybody down. Yoshida creates her own Ondine. Watch and enjoy it.

Palemon, the man fated to fall in love with Ondine, is danced with both emotion and skill by Edward Watson. His time with Yoshida seems a true collaboration. Though his role is a subsidiary one to the prima ballerina, he adds much to the excellence of the production and is never more than enjoyable to watch. Tirrenio is the very strong Ricardo Cervera. His every entrance has been designed for maximum effect. The dancer achieves just that. The performance does have a few small areas where the "parts" do not quite gel. Berta, the villain of the piece, is given a somewhat lackluster performance by Genesia Rosato. She is beautiful (as is very much Yoshida), which helps with close-ups , but she seems to be a trifle rote with some of her work. Perhaps this is why Ashton's movement for this character seems weak. Maybe another dancer would make me feel differently. Rosato is not terrible or even bad, and her occasional lack of emotional involvement isn't enough to ruin anything, but it is sometimes distracting--at least, to me. And the corps de ballet seem under-rehearsed at times, Act One in particular. They are bit too frequently (and literally) out of step with each other to completely ignore and the energy, passion that should come through doesn't always do so. But these are just fleeting moments. Mostly, they do great work. And they have great things to do. (Ashton's ideas for them are some of the most enjoyable surprises of the work.) Overall, the recording is a triumph for The Royal Ballet and its talented soloists and the work itself is a joy.
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Contest - win a prize for your imput

Paul Ponders is starting a contest open to anyone who wants to enter: Thirty Dollars For Thirty Readers. To be entered to win a $30 Amazon gift card , you just have to follow some simple rules. 1) You have to read all the past and new posts from Paul Ponders. 2) You have to comment on each one. That's it. Your comments must be related to each post and be more than "I liked it" or "I didn't like it". Simple, right? One catch: thirty people have to enter before the prize is awarded. So get your friends to be a part of it. Convince music lovers or art lovers that it's worth their while. The posts are about music, mostly, but other arts are covered. They are (sometimes highly) opinionated and meant to provoke questions or discussions--that's why it's so important to get people reading. Anyone who follows a blog knows that half the fun is the reactions to each post. Don't let me down. Help me get my thirty people. Someone will get thirty dollars.   (Naturally, you don't have to comment on this post.)

Carmen again? Yes!

I love Carmen with as much passion as I usually dislike productions of it...or even audio recordings. For such a well-known and (supposedly) well-loved piece, making it work as a whole is too often like a dog chasing its tail: you know what they're after, but they never seem to get it. Why? Many complicated reasons, but first and probably foremost is the history of the title role. Carmen is complicated, mercurial, passionate, lustful, beautiful, willful, taciturn, and (finally) resigned. (She is not, however, a wounded animal...or any kind of animal other than human. Let's bury that stupid idea once and for all.) And she has to sing all these famous pieces that everyone assumes they "know" and expect to be sung a certain way. Getting someone who can be all those things and still sing the damn thing is extremely hard indeed, even without audience prejudice. Everyone knows the right voice for it, the right physique, the right costume. They compare each knew Carmen to the "right" way in their minds. At best, you usually get one or the other: the actor who can't really sing the notes well enough or the singer who has all the notes (or well enough) but can't act it. Carmen was conceived as a work with dialogue in it--strong acting was obviously expected. Even with the recits, the acting challenges do not go away. And it's a HUGE part. And it may be considered the mezzo role supreme, but there is less "mezzo" there than a full-range. High (quite often), low (less often) and everything in-between. Just because someone can "hit" the notes does not mean they should be singing this. The very smart Frederica Von Stade said early and often that she was not meant to sing Carmen. And she was right: she could have sung it beautifully and been completely wrong. (Another wonderful mezzo did not heed the warning and now it's on video forever.) And so many people who have sung it--including that wonderful mezzo--are just "wrong." Too shrill or too wobbly or two vocally forced (they most common pitfall, sad to say) or too polite or too hammy or too "fake" sexy or just too everything but what is required. Young singers should not flock to it, they should run! Unless they are the rare bird that can deliver all of it. And the MET found one. Elina Garanca. She sang it magnificently, beautifully, powerfully, even subtly when required. She has all the notes and at all the dynamics. The coloring of the voice is just right. And she is one of the most believable Carmens I have ever seen (and I've seen my share.) Not a moment seemed fake. And if that were not enough, she was singing with a Don Jose that was actually convincing as a (failed) lover driven mad. Hearing the recording of Roberto Alagna singing Jose, I expected the worst: vocal fatigue and over-acting. What a surprise he was onstage. Yes, the beauty that was once in his voice is mostly gone. But he had everything else--characterful singing, musicianship, dynamics, diction, variety--including convincing, emotional acting. For once, the fight was not an embarrassment. That alone is a triumph of sorts. Even his attempt at a pianissimo scale at the end of the Flower Song was emotionally right, even if it wasn't his best vocal moment. And I never worried that he might not make it to the end. (God, how many times have a cringed when the Fourth Act gets underway.) What a pair they made. And I only saw it on TV! I'm kicking myself for not grabbing a ticket.

This riveting pair were surrounded by a capable cast with no weak links (the Escamillo, Teddy Tahu Rhodes, was actually quite handsome and fit and sang with panache!) in a mostly traditional production that did many more things right than it did wrong. As in almost every production I have seen, the chorus was routinely handled (some of that is Bizet's fault) and the set was more functional than inspired (but certainly not distracting). Micaela is a one-note role, but Barbara Frittoli sang her one note well and didn't try to over-act to compensate. And last but certainly not least, Yannick Nezet-Seguin conducted a performance to treasure. He gave the singers everything they needed but kept the tension going until the shattering end. You felt like he LOVED the music--all of it--and could translate that to the orchestra, the singers, and the house. The interludes were more than decoration for a change. The dances during two of them representing the battle between Carmen and Jose were a nice touch which helped. By all means, buy the DVD when it comes out. If anyone says it isn't wonderful, do NOT listen. Get it! And as for the hoopla that surrounded the production, with its "quittings" and "public announcements, all I have to say is: Gheorghiu who?

1984

I just managed to watch a video of Loren Maazel's magnum opus, 1984, which was recorded in 2005 at the premiere, was released in 2009 and finally made it to Netflix for me to watch. To start with a caveat, a video is not the same as a live performance, so one should not be mistaken for the other. But watching (and listening) to a recording of a new work can be beneficial in a different way from the live experience. First, you see the singers close up and in the case of Simon Keenlyside, whose acting is as wonderfully convincing as his singing, the camera's close proximity is no detriment. Second, you can hear the music more than once in a short period of time and replay parts to familiarize yourself with the work. And three, it costs a heap less money than flying to London to catch a performance.

I mention a specific work from a fairly recent premiere to make a larger point. 1984, like the vast majority of "successful" (well-attended and / or reviewed) or "unsuccessful" (not particularly well-attended or poorly reviewed) new operas suffers from the same repeating, damning, fatal flaw: competency. Nothing is worse than being merely proficient. Nothing so terrible as making no particular mistakes in composition or libretto. Nothing so tragic as being merely "good." Or worse, having "good" things in it. Because with something as complex as opera, anything less than "brilliant" is a failure, no matter how many people praise it or watch it...as Meyerbeer would tell you were he alive. Page after page of 1984 makes sense, has musical development, has interesting portions, differentiates between characters. The list of attributes could be extended. But nothing in it is wonderful. Nothing moves you, tests you, challenges you, or even teaches you something about how music works or succeeds. The production left nothing to be desired. The singing was (mostly) terrific. The DVD was made with skill and care and the elements of opera that make it such a pinnacle of musical expression, including melody, harmony, vocal writing, musical characterization, orchestration, etc. etc. were recorded with consummate skill. But what a disappointment. Who wants competency when you can hear genius at the touch of a button? Or at the very least, marvelous music?

Are there wonderful operas still being written? Yes. Thomas Ades' The Tempest is one. I was lucky enough to experience a production in Santa Fe that left me spellbound, moved, excited, quizzical, enchanted. A radio broadcast (now on CD) confirmed my every impression. This really IS great opera. But certainly anything but "easy" to hear or watch. It inhabits a weird oxymoron: complex simplicity. The music can be followed, enjoyed, "breathed in", experienced with pleasure in just one hearing as long as you let it take you where it needs to go. You have to listen with intelligence and alertness. "Humming" the tunes is not its goal in any way. It is not for opera fans who think Puccini was the last great composer (or ONLY great composer) and nothing is greater than La Boheme or Tosca. This Tempest makes demands. But if you rise to the "challenges" the rewards are bountiful. Perhaps most extraordinary of all is how much of the music is truly beautiful. And each encounter seems to reveal new layers you hadn't noticed before. By contrast, 1984 attempts beauty in the midst of ugliness (which befits the story and the characters maybe even this libretto) but only manages off-the-rack dissonance that stands in for the cruelty and pain of oppression, one-dimensional "passionate" passages that point at emotions rather than portray them, and an occasion "swelling" line that proves to be some lesser version of great music by someone else. You can't even HATE it. It isn't original or "difficult" or inept enough to elicit hatred. Like so much new music, nothing's exactly wrong with it. So everything is.

Hamlet

Just watched the Royal Shakespeare Company's Hamlet on PBS and I must say how disappointing it was considering how much of it was excellent. The production itself was wonderful and "recreated' for television (not just a film of a stage production.)  I just couldn't get past David Tennant's Hamlet. He seemed more hammy actor finally getting a chance at a big juicy (as in ready for scenery eating) part of a lifetime than an actual "heir" to this ultimate of roles. He was outshone by almost everyone. Not a good sign in Hamlet. Maybe I'll watch it again in a week or so and see if my initial reactions stay the same. Perhaps I'm missing something. Could this be Tennant's way of mimicking insanity? Hamlet hasn't fared so well on the screen lately. Not since Derek Jacobi's BBC version in the 80's has a really convincing taped performance come off completely. Even Kenneth Branaugh was all wrong as Hamlet. It did not help that Jacobi was Claudius. And only idiots liked Mel Gibson's "bug-your-eyes out" and rush through the long parts to get to the action scenes portrayal (or betrayal as the case may be.) Ethan Hawke, though obviously talented, seemed all at sea, and sadly, unconvincing as well. Does this play only work (with a few notable exceptions) on stage? Evidence seems to point that way.

Great Tenor

I'm mourning the loss of a favorite singer of mine: Philip Langridge. He could (and did) sing music from every period, including many premieres by prominent composers of the last forty years. He was especially noted for his Britten interpretations and luckily, some of them are on video (and more are on cd.) He didn't have a "traditionally" beautiful voice, but he was a extraordinary musician and actor and he could delve into the psychology and emotions of characters unlike anyone else. If you are unfamiliar with him, try to find a copy of the video of Peter Grimes. He stands comparisons with both Pears and Vickers and is not found wanting. I saw him sing Aron in Moses und Aron at the MET in his sixties and he was riveting (not easy in that opera and not an easy sing at any age.) He made it seem natural and characterful--basically, he sang it like the masterpiece that it is. The opera world is a little less bright to me now that he is gone. He was singing until his health failed and singing smartly and well. He was 70.

Bad Met Revisited

I finally saw the first part of the repeat (of a repeat) of the Live from the Met Aida and what a horrible sight and sound it was. The tenor Johann Botha was a loud, stiff, (and in the long run) ludicrous Radames--and he was probably the best singer on the stage. What has happened to Violeta Urmana? Her voice was in tatters: shrill, unfocused, forced at any level about piano. This is a rather recent thing, because I've heard her within the last three years and she sounded nothing like this. Could she have just been so ill she couldn't sing well enough to support the sound? It was heart-breaking to hear her. And hiring Dolora Zajick again was just stupid. She sounded old and tired, she looked old and tired, she moved old and tired. And her costumes just accentuated her inappropriateness. The whole first scene was excruciating. Then The High Priestess sang flat the entire next scene. And then I had to turn it off. I couldn't stand any more. This is a tape that should be erased to save all concerned from embarrassment. Not a very good month for me and the Met.

Spotty posts - more to come, though

Still not completely finished with the website but enough people know about it so I'll try to be better about keeping the blog current. Last week I went to see Hamlet at the Met and had one of those dreaded evenings where very little went well and very much went terribly. Two of the principle singers (Simon Keenlyside as Hamlet and Jennifer Larmore as Gertrude) gave musically insightful, vividly acted, and just damned well-sung performances. That ends the good part. The orchestra was lackluster, missed notes, made embarrassingly ugly sounds (the sax player should never have been hired) and had trouble following the conductor who flailed away helplessly. Marlis Petersen, the Ophelie, was seen by the press as a "savior" who swept in to replace a canceling Dessay and kept the run of this troublesome opera possible. She is young, but worries already exist. She was obviously indisposed but vainly tried to sing anyway, to quite poor and sometimes painful effect until a nicely varied Mad Scene (which she copied almost to the note and movement from the video of Dessay in this same production), but even there, she cracked her two climactic high notes--which just leads a listener to wonder why she is singing this rep to begin with. Just because you can make the sounds does not mean you should be. I hope she finds more congenial roles although she is singing Lulu at the Met later this year. This performance did not make me want to rush out and see it. (Though I will.) I didn't want her to be Natalie Dessay, but she wasn't even June Anderson (the merely okay Ophelie on the most recent audio recording that I know of.) And James Morris gave the single most embarrassing performance I have seen and heard at the Met--and I've seen and heard some shit. I looked away and tried to think of other things during his "big" scene. In some ways I was angry with him. This is singing at such a sub-par level, he has no business taking roles ever again. He should have some self-respect and cancel everything and retire. The Laerte(s) was a once-fine singer--Toby Spence--who has decided he wants to be a big full lyric Italian tenor when he is a lovely sweet lyric tenor of a decidedly non-Italianate sound. Why? Who wants to hear you force? (Answer: no one.) Even some of the smaller (easier) roles were not much better. The Horatio should and shall go nameless. The Ghost made a dull part even duller (though David Pittsinger has a fine voice.) Only the two gravediggers made anything of their moments and they both shone. They were Richard Bernstein and Mark Schowalter. The audience (rightly) adored them. When the gravediggers out-sing Claudius, the evening cannot be seen as anything but a sad failure, despite a wonderful Hamlet and Gertrude. At least Keenlyside had a triumph. On this evening, that is saying something.

(Way) Post Oscars

Since we just got our new website up and running, I'm a wee bit behind. And I wanted to mention a few things about the Oscars. First, the "music" portions were wasted for the most part except for a bit of very odd but fascinating dance in the middle of all the tired "urban" flip-flops. Yes, aren't they athletic. Young kids can (and will) do that in my neighborhood. So for about 30 seconds, we got something fun and quirky. I should have seen what group that was. They might be worth seeing. The second thing is: the obligatory opening number is almost always a wash-out. Because Broadway-style does not mean Broadway caliber (well, old , good Broadway caliber.) Why do they keep doing them? And last, Michael Giacchino is such a delightful composer, I yelled when he won for his lovely, wistful, charming score for Up. And he had a wonderful, positive message. Watch The Incredibles and then Up (because they're great) and see just how far ranging his talents are. Long may he reign.

After Christmas Nutcrackers

If you didn't watch all the Nutcrackers on Ovation before Christmas, (and you're not sick of it), you might try watching three very different versions of the work that are either delightful, moving, funny, or insane. (Yeah, insane. We'll get to that one.)

The funny one would be Mark Morris's A Hard Nut. It is continually inventive and wonderfully childlike in its cleverness and wit--the costumes alone are funny--and is aimed at anyone who thinks they've seen the "original" too many times. (No one does the "original". They are all hybrids of more than one choreographer's work.) Just watch how the mice are killed. A joy for kids and adults. (Maybe not little little kids...but then neither is the original. All those murdered mice?)

The moving one is Matthew Bourne's The Nutcracker. As he did with Swan Lake, Bourne creates a new story that has allusions to the original story, but goes its own way and is hardly a Christmas story. In this version, children are left in a miserable orphanage where their spirits are so smashed they retreat into their imaginations. Act Two is like the version we know in that it is a divertissement consisting of solos and duets with new characters who come and go. But these are all objects like cakes and presents and ice cream cones. The end is quite a different experience from the standard one.

And then there is Maurice Bejart's version. You have to see it to believe it. It purports to tell the story of Bejart's life with a very Oedipal mother / son relationship, sex, violence, Diaghilev and a cat. For no particular reason, a cat. He seems to represent something, but I have no idea what that would be. And this is definitely not for children. Even some adults will be offended. It depends on your interest in an "I can't believe they've just done that" kind of production whether you'll enjoy it or not, but at least you can watch it any time of the year and never once be reminded of the holidays.

Needless to say, the dancing in all of these is exemplary (ever notice how the level of dancing in videos has a higher ratio of good to bad than opera videos?), the sets and costumes add to the experience of each (you have to love the giant sculpture in the Bejart) and the recordings are first class. See if you can rent one (or more ) of them. Maybe wait until you AREN'T sick of The Nutcracker.

Two (or more) of a Kind pt. 3

God, opera composers have been obsessed with Orpheus. There is that making the most beautiful music in the world thing, and the greatest love in the world thing, and the going to hell thing, but really...well, everyone probably knows the Monteverdi and the Gluck (Orfeo and Orfeo ed Euridice respectively for the two opera lovers who don't know by now) but what about the wonderfully whacky Orphee aux Enfers by Jacques Offenbach, and the weirdly what-the-fuck? The Mask of Orpheus by Harrison Birtwistle? Many may know the Offenbach (if not, listen to the newest recording with Natalie Dessay) where everyone and everything gets mocked in memorable fashion. And it's even better if you know the references it's ribbing. What other version celebrates Euridice STAYING in hell? If you listen without reading about it and just follow the libretto, you'll get several musical surprises of the "That's where that came from?" variety. But do feel sorry for the poor tenor. You'll know exactly what I mean when you hear it. The music of Offenbach is almost always delightful (really) and even undervalued. And it makes a fine comparison with Auber. (Opera comique is one of its targets.) Gilbert and Sullivan is second best in my book.

Then there's Birtwistle. He is still causing fights. I mean it. Yelling and screaming and walk-outs and standing ovations and write-ups pro and con in the world's opera magazines and newspapers. Like him or hate him, no one sounds like him. He's like Stravinsky with the premiere of The Rite of Spring, but with everything he writes. It is probably no accident that Stravinsky is one of his influences.  And nothing has caused more hand-wringing and head scratching and hurumphs and hurrahs and hallelujahs than The Mask of Orpheus. It is somewhat indescribable. The tale of Orpheus and Euridice and Aristeus (who causes her to die) is told several times from various points of view with each character represented by an onstage singer, an offstage singer, and a giant puppet...yes, puppets. Musically, the same music is also repeated in (somewhat clear) panels and supports the action to a degree, so with a little concentration, you can just about follow the permutations of action and music. Then Act Two happens. And then Act Three. So even the most adventurous listener can be lost. But maybe that's part of its appeal. You can wallow in one-of-a-kind sounds (including computer-generated ones) and experience the whole thing as a wild pageant of very modern construction. I repeat for emphasis, no one sounds like Birtwistle. He takes ideas from Medieval and Renaissance music--like separate lines that move in and out of the foreground--and adds wild rhythms and growling screeches and lyrical suspended ideas and leaping melodies and stirs it over a high flame so it bubbles. He inverts the overtone series so that the smaller intervals are (usually) on the bottom and the larger ones move in and out of the upper reaches. (This is a gross reduction of very complex music but it's a good way to start to think about it.) I personally love the wild (and hard) ride, but I can't really blame anyone for throwing their hands up and running. But in a time of easy-listening opera available twenty-four seven, a little harshness and mystical beauty is welcome. It has been recorded, but I must warn you, following the action is even harder with the booklet! I suggest reading the synopsis and the names of the individual tracks and letting it go. I've heard it many times by now and I'm still not always sure what is what. Sometimes, that is a compliment.

P.S. If you'd like to try one of his operas that is not quite so complex, a well-recorded, played, sung, and even acted version of his latest work, The Minotaur, is out on DVD. Make it through the somewhat slow first scene, and you won't be able to stop watching.

Two (or more) of a Kind pt. 2

The story of Manon Lescaut has been the heroine (if that's the right word) of not just the two famous examples of Massenet and Puccini, but two less-well known, but nonetheless interesting examples. They include the first and the last (that I know of) operatic versions: one a formulaic though still worth hearing opera comique by Daniel Auber, Manon Lescaut, the other a very 20th Century one-of-a-kind modernization by Hans Werner Henze, Boulevard Solitude. (If you don't know the Massenet and Puccini operas, what's keeping you? Go listen or see them. Very good videos exist of both: The Scotto / Domingo MET Puccini, the Fleming / Alvarez Massenet.)

The Auber is hardly a work of genius but it does show what opera comique was before real geniuses took over. All the conventions are here: light romances (or cavatinas) for the leading lady which show off her versatility and lack of a heavy instrument (this was before Carmen though too many mezzos over-sing it), tenor heroes, love duets, ensembles that fit a routine of soloists with chorus, starting small but building to a big climax with plenty of high notes, runs, trills, etc. The ends were not always happy though most of the music is light and (sometimes comically) positive. Opera comique is a form few people really know and this is a good way to delve into it. This particular example is stereotypical in its form and above average in invention. The only recording I know of gives a good reading. The leading lady is a bit shrill, but versatile, and the lead tenor is stylish. If you know the two famous versions, the interest increases.

The Henze is much more interesting, well, more than that--wonderful. It caused a stir and a controversy when it was first produced, due as much to the modern touches like drugs and jazz and the greed that feeds the plot (Manon and her brother are more like grifters. She is anything but innocent. She goes to jail for murder.) The music is a very unique mixture of the aforementioned jazz, tonality, atonality, chant, and admittedly lyrical twelve tone rows. The scenes are tense and stylistically different from each other as the whole thing rolls inevitably to a hard (anti-?) climax. A recent video makes a very good case for it. The whole production is dwarfed by a railway station where people come and go and never connect. The singing is of a very high level (for once in a modern work) and the singers are good actors as well. Like the Auber, knowledge of the two famous versions makes the work even more fascinating. If you can't find the Auber, at least get the Henze.

Two (or more) of a Kind pt. 1

Sometimes my brain just goes somewhere weird, and this is one of those times. I have always been fascinated by those oddities of music history where different composers taking a stab at the same book or play or myth and come up with something completely different (and not just the music.) One of the oddest "doublings" is Hector Berlioz and Kurt Weill writing comic operas on Benvenuto Cellini's Autobiography. A larger-than-life character, Cellini must have seemed ideal as a hero for a popular work. Alas, both Benvenuto Cellini (Berlioz) and The Firebrand of Florence (Weill) were horrible flops in their first productions. Both have had champions since, but they are far from "easy" to produce and perform, so no wonder the first audiences (and performers) had so much trouble. Anyone can listen to them on fine recordings (beware the Weimar version of the Berlioz) and compare, but here are a few ideas on each. Personally, I think these two geniuses have come up with two masterworks (Berlioz's a masterPIECE, yes it is, don't argue with me. That means you--you know who you are.) Listen and see for yourself.

Berlioz wanted to conquer the Paris Opera, so he wrote the opera comique to end all opera comiques. It had everything an opera comique could ever want: Lovely arias for the lovers (Cellini has two), comic duets, trios, ensembles, action, farce, romance, a dash of violence (okay, most opera comiques don't have a dash of violence) and a great musical build-up to the happy ending. But all of them were "super-charged" and left the audience, singers, orchestra, and conductor in the dust. Today, we've heard many more complex works and, with some concentration, can hear his great musical ideas that just proliferate throughout the work and enjoy them. (The Carnival Finale to Act One is unlike anything else, even today.) The orchestration alone is a marvel of its--hell, ANY--time. I personally smile every time I hear the bassoon mock the comic father by playing along with his low note during one of his "laments." (He almost continuously laments. It might not sound wonderful, but it is.) And he gets mocked again during the Carnival scene, where a troupe of actors "portray" him on a stage (while the "real" character watches) and--oh, just go listen, or better yet, if you're in New York, watch the MET production when it comes back next year. I'll just say the orchestration alone is funny.

The libretto--which has been criticized by some and blamed in part for the operas poor reception--is never less than functional and frequently more than that. Berlioz was obviously inspired by it. I've heard it many times and I have seen the MET production when it was premiered during the composer's Bi-Centennial year. It plays beautifully. But you have to pay attention. It is not The Barber of Seville (to name a comic opera where characters are shared by more than one work.) It has a much more complex story, is musically more sophisticated and requires virtuoso musicians from top to bottom--onstage and in the pit-- and is far-less frequently done, so the world hasn't already heard half the arias before the curtain goes up. And Berlioz has heard more chords than I-IV-V-I in three different keys. And colleges can't perform it with students. (So I don't LOOOOOVE Rossini. Bite me.) Maybe it's still a connoisseur's opera in it's opera comique on steriods approach, but anyone with a little musical sophistication can get something out of it. Others can go watch Barber at your neighborhood junior college.

Now the Weill piece is not nearly as successful as a whole, but PARTS of it are wonderful. Actually, from a musical standpoint, MOST of it is wonderful. Alas, the libretto is poor and even Ira Gershwin is not on his best form. (Some of the rhymes are so forced, you have to say, "What?") But it has a lovely duet for the two lovers, many comic numbers for most of the other characters, some clever ensemble writing, good solos, etc. etc. The "characteristic" Weill orchestrations, harmonies, and melodies are prolix here, and enjoyable on their own. Part of its original failure seems to have been a casting problem: most of these roles require true "operetta" voices, not "musical comedy" ones. He got a musical comedy cast and all the flaws of the show came right to the foreground and it's mastery fell away. But you can go listen to an odd but still charming recording--it keeps all the music intact but does away with the "bad" book by describing it in rhymed verse. ( I warned you it was odd.) The singing is masterly, though, so it does the musical side full justice. And a wonderful singer I went to school with named Lucy Schaufer has a role and more people should hear her so she might get more recordings.

So two "flops" that are musically wonderful. Go listen to them (or try to catch Cellini.)  Tomorrow, four Manons...yes, four.