Paul Ponders

2011 in rembrance Part Two

2012-01-17T12:56:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I've never been good at working on someone else's time table. Weeks into 2012 and I'm still thinking about 2011. Some of the reasons are good ones, some not. Still, for what it's worth...

To me, theater was more impressive in 2011 than classical music offerings...save recordings. See Part One. (I admit, shame-faced, I saw too little of the other arts to write with much authority. Though good things came on television. I'll write about it later. My one New Year's resolution is to remedy that negligence in 2012.) Giant among tall people, Sir Derek Jacobi brought his legendary King Lear to Brooklyn Academy of Music. 'Legendary' as definition not exaggeration. This was acting as highest art. What you missed if you did not catch it! From his initial, somewhat senile, arrogance, through his cruel escape into the void of wandering disillusionment, Jacobi effortlessly bound us to him, and we greedily followed, wanting more. He gave it. That psychotic break as he descends into madness, so difficult to manage, was as vital as it was wrenching. He had a marvelous moment when he 'hid' behind imaginary bed curtains so 'the world' could not see him sleep. And oh, that moment of self-awareness brought on by the return of Cordelia...only to lose her. Heart-breaking, as it should be. And with that final, painful loss of his own life to grief, Jacobi proved to be without superiors. Some may be different, and equally wonderful, but none in my experience have been greater. The coup de theatre of the storm scene will surely stay in the mind of all who saw it. But only the greatest could keep from being upstaged by it. Needless to say, Sir Derek was never in doubt of such a thing.
The entire cast was worthy of him. Ron Cook as The Fool was particularly noteworthy, if for no other reason that he made the part work. And the production gave him a great send-off: no longer able to help his beloved king, he left to find life elsewhere, broken in his uselessness. And Paul Jesson made Glouchester a tragic figure of almost the stature of Lear...as he should be, since he is a mirror to Lear: both are blind to their children's villany, one figuratively, one literally (the blinding was horrific and not for the squeamish) a double tragedy of foolish fathers. But each man and woman in every role was superlative--save one uncomfortable young man in a small part. He should learn a bit more before he tries verse again. Surely someone told him.

In another production from Britain, Mark Rylance dazzled in Jerusalem, a play by Jez Butterworth, that divided those who saw it. Rylance was electric for three hours, off-stage for just a few minutes, never once false or pandering to the audience for cheap laughs. I found the play pretentious, but people I respect felt differently. The only certainty was the play would have never made it across the ocean without him. Rylance's disdain at the Tony Awards and his subsequent ‘gift’ of the actual ‘trophy’ to a man who didn’t want it, just made him look a self-centered prick. But his skill could not be denied. This was also powerful acting. But I would wager everyone who voted for him would have liked to meet him face to face and say "kiss my ass."

A better play, also with exemplary acting, was Other Desert Cities, by Jon Robin Baitz.     The cast of five was so impeccable, they all deserve to be mentioned (alphabetically): Stockard Channing, Rachel Griffiths, Stacy Keach, Judith Light, and Mathew Risch.   The women had better parts, and they didn’t disappoint.   Griffiths was the center around which the others circled, and she was never over-shadowed...which is saying a lot, since Channing and Light were so commanding, spellbinding.    What a joy to watch these three women!     Keach and Risch were nearly as great with their fewer opportunities, and the time flew by.     And that last half-hour was unsuspected, despairing.    I doubt anyone could have guessed where it was leading for its climax.   The audience was truly shocked.   You could feel the energy.
Alas, one of my favorite plays—Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia—was all but destroyed by an excrutiating performance by a poorly directed, screeching young actress.    The discovery of her sad demise after the last scene of the play seemed useless.   If I could have had my way, she would have died after the first!   On the plus side, the play was revived, far from a given, and the rest of the actors were a powerful team.    Raul Esparza, Billy Crudup, and Lia Williams were particularly fine.   Satisfyingly, an understudy for one of the major characters went on for the first time (the other actors clapped for him at the curtain call) and gave a powerful, humorous, and finally, sad performance of a marvelous creation by Stoppard.    His name was Jack Cutmore-Scott.    If you see his name on something, go watch it.   I hope his career is long and rewarding.
Not everything was on Broadway.   I also enjoyed a smart, ‘well made’ play—in the best sense—performed by a talented young cast and produced by a small but mighty theater group: Exit Carolyn by Jennie Berman Eng, produced by Sans A Productions.    The fine young actors were Lauren Blumenfeld, Jake Loewenthal, Anna O’Donoghue, and Laura Ramadei.   It played at The Drilling Company, an intimate though useful theater space.    Given the exit of so many similar groups, its survival was cheering.    Hopefully, fewer companies will drop by the wayside, and more will start up.    I can dream.
Star turns made Anything Goes and How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying enticing but not enough for me to part with my money.    Stephen Sondheim and James Goldman's Follies was a show for the ages.    A brilliant work about loss and regret, age as a cruel truth-teller, this was theater at its best.     I don’t exaggerate.    It was one of the greatest things I have seen on Broadway.   Period.
Sondheim had a great year.   2011 began with the final performances of the revival of A Little Night Music with a matchless Bernadette Peters ruining Send In The Clowns for everyone else.   No one will touch its power.   Sorry folks.   And the second, final, half of his book containing his private ideas about his--and other's-- lyrics, all printed for a great read, came out to wild acclaim.  Like its predecessor, it is witty, bitchy, wise, honest, and unflinching.   Boy, they're just unmissable!    Finishing the Hat and Look, I Made a Hat.   The subtitles alone make you want to read them.   (I won't tell you what they say, just so you'll have to check them out.)   Go get them if you don't have them!   And, of course, the production of Follies and a cast recording as fine as any for a Sondheim show.
A confession as digression: I became obsessed by Follies unlike anything I can remember, save a few operas.   A few!    I have loved many shows, seeing them a second time with pleasure.   I remember them, think on them, enjoy them...but in some kind of moderation.    But this Follies is different.    I had to see it again.    I could have gone back ten times.   I've listened to the cast recording four or five times by now, and I only got it in December.   And I already have multiple recordings of the score!     I can sing most of it.    But hearing it again is like new.   I finally realize how all those people I have laughed at could rewatch multiple performances of a Broadway show within a short period of time.   At least I did get to see it a second time.   But since it's closing on Sunday, and no one is just going to hand me $80 for a half-price ticket, twice is all I will get.   But I saw it twice!
Follies is the story of ghosts, literally and figuratively.   The time is 1971, the place a dilapidated theater, the occasion, a party that becomes a wake for the lost optimism of the first half of the 20th Century as defined by popular entertainment.   It becomes a Follies of sorts, like those of Florenz Ziegfeld, as character after character performs old numbers, the still vivid memories the sign of their lost dreams.   They remember them, mostly word and note perfect, many with regret.   The plot involves four main characters and their younger selves, but the 'old' numbers give everything a surprising depth.   To hear how brilliantly Sondheim has written each piece as a symbol of the performer's fallen dreams, is to understand why he is a genius...and know why casual attention to his work is foolish.   (He will never have the performance numbers of Lloyd Webber.   But he is the superior in every way.   He is superior to most composers who write for the stage.   Or the lyricists.   Sorry, but it's true.   And after all this time, no one needs me to say so.    I jujst like saying it)   With a smart, odd, original book, the whole becomes a harsh microcosm for the lack of optimism...still with us, alas.
The work should have aged past its sell-by date.    It talks of things from almost a century ago.   The fact that it is so relevant reflects cruelly on the reality of life on Earth right now.   Or has it always been such?
Not a number failed to go over.   Some stopped the show.   Broadway Baby, Who’s That Woman? otherwise known as The Mirror Song, I’m Still Here, Could I Leave You? brought the audience to wild ovations.    Wild ovations.   Great among equals, Elaine Page filled I’m Still Here with a sense of rage at the rollercoaster ride of her life.    After the music stopped, she stood on the stage, a character who has to calm down to regain her equilibrium, as the place went nuts.   Shit, this was great!    All of these numbers!
But the evening rises or falls with the four leads and they were superlative.    Some of the best performances in any kind of theater, much less singing and dancing in a musical.    Like I said, superlative.   How often can a person say that and mean it so definitively? Yet, here I've seen many examples in 2011. And now, four more.   How superb they all were!   Jan Maxwell as Phyllis, Ron Raines as Ben, her husband, Danny Burstein as Buddy, Sally's husband...and the peerless Sondheim interpreter, Bernadette Peters (again) as Sally.   Like Jacobi, Rylance, etc., she is inimitable.  This whole blog has been about great acting, and she proved to anyone who cared to really watch and listen, that she was as good as any of them.    As the delusional Sally, she begins the evening...and ends it.    The symmetry was apt.   No, she didn't have the funny one-liners: they were (chiefly) the possession of the perfect Jan Maxwell as Phyllis.   Every person in the room loved her, every moment she was onstage.   But Peters didn't need them.   Sally came in looking to be that young showgirl again; part of the power of the work is the audience knows it cannot happen.    Every time she revisited a moment from the past: coming down the stairs one last time, as she had thirty years prior, or singing and dancing in that unmatched Mirror Song--she was so fiercely trying to rekindle the magic you wanted to look away (but couldn't.)   Sally was doing everything 'for real', not a happy, let's-run-through-this-for fun that the rest of the guests were doing.   She sang In Buddy’s Eyes with a pathetic, unconvincing optimism, sadly touching in its emphatic delusions.    That defeated second half--just after we've seen her memory of the 'losing' the love of the young Ben--was desperate self-delusion sung sotto voce.   You could probably count on one hand the actresses that could make that work, much less move the audience so.   The rapturous Too Many Mornings brought thrills and a sense of smashing surp-rise, especially when an also perfectly cast Danny Burstein as Sally's husband, Buddy, was there to witness it.    Hearing Peters’ Sally and a masterful Ron Raines' Ben deceive themselves into thinking they have always been in love was unlike anything I have seen in a musical.   The number is haunted by their younger selves.   In fact, each 'older' character starts off in an imagainary embrace of the 'memory' person, then moves to the 'real' version of each other, as blind wish fulfillment overtakes everything.   I've known what happens from reading the script and watching some blurry videos of past productions, but the moment is burned into my memory...not the only moment in the show to do that.
And then the show cracks in half (!) and we have the ‘Follies’ numbers, soul-bearing songs from each of the four protagonists.    Buddy’s God-Why-Don’t-You-Love-Oh-You-Do-I’ll-See-You-Later Blues is baggy-pants comic as man trapped in a no win situation: a mistress who loves him that he does not love, and a wife that is just the opposite.    It was manic and funny…and painful.   Spot on.     And then Sally came out.    This has to rank with the greatest of my ‘I was there’ moments.   Peters just broke every heart with the self-destructive Losing My Mind.   It kicked you in the gut, hard.   Wrenching and painful to watch, but unforgettable.    A good reason to see the show twice: the first time Sally was already broken, tragic.   The second, she was so desperate in her pain, she seemed to break in the middle of the song.    In fact, Peters was so overcome, the conductor had to wait for her to collect herself enough to finish.    I’ve seen nothing like it.   Comparable only to greats like Jacobi at his finest. The difference in performance—the obvious talent to be completely ‘in the moment’, though it be different every night—is a testament to her myriad abilities.    What 'Method' acting should be.    (Like any great actor, there are some fools who always want her to do it however they deem 'correct', however someone else did it or would do it, instead of the way Peters does.    Remember what the saying to Mark Rylance should be?)
Then to top her show-stopping Could I Leave You?,Jan Maxwell returned to stop it again with a sensational song and dance, The Story of Lucy and Jessie.   And I mean dance.    Phyllis is the Tony winning role.   She has the best lines and two wonderful, powerful numbers.     And she alone comes through the ordeal wiser and happier in herself.    I predict Maxwell will win the Tony for this lay-‘em-in-the-aisles turn, though Peters had the most difficult role and was inimitable.     Many actors have been great as Phyllis: it’s a great role    How many have been so hopeful, raw, desperate, crumbled, defeated, and heartbreaking as Sally?    This must be one of Peters’ greatest triumphs.   Throughout, she was thrilling, but her final scene was even more, just too painful to watch unmoved.     As she exited, inconsolable, broken, so did you a few minnutes later.
Another sign of the overall greatness?   40 plus people on the stage and not a one superfluous, weak, or uninteresting.   Even great opera performances rarely get that much right!   Of course, none of this would have been possible without a great musical director.   James Moore did everyone proud.   Production values were exceedingly high, adding yet more glory.   The costumes for just the showgirls were an eyeful.   But skillful as they all were- lighting, costumes, sets, dances, musical staging--they were just icing.   No, the show was not holiday ‘fun’...to its financial detriment.    But it was brilliant.    One-of-a-kind.    If anyone going in still thought Follies a seriously flawed work, he certainly left the theater convinced otherwise.
To pass over quickly: the requisite flops popped up: Catch Me If You Can thrilled no one, though Norbert Leo Butz won another Tony.   Sister Act was so light in its pleasures, it all but evaporated.     Yes, it was funny, and the score was better than one might expect.    And the cast put it over with consummate skill.    But had I not seen it at a discount price, I would have been gravely disappointed.     Too much was rote.    At least two songs could (should?) have been cut without harming it.    It already looked like it was on tour.   Priscilla, Queen of the Desert was just the movie onstage.    Anything Goes only went when Sutton Foster was onstage.   This show has passed its sell-by date.    Cut to just its musical numbers, it would be as satisfactory.    Enough said.   No one will remember any of them ten years from now.     Follies will be talked about in fifty.
   Still, I have high hopes for theater in 2012.   And music.   And art.   And photography.   And dance.  (I promise to see more of all of them.) And television. Nothing as wonderful as Follies, but that is understandable.   I have high hopes for every year. But as the years pass, I have more apprehension about life outside it.

2011 in remembrance Part One

2012-01-06T22:00:00.000-08:00

America (and most of the rest of the world, including New York) went through an unsettling year. The fruits of protest and government toppling have not had time to register, though the initial shock seems all-too present and real. Many small performing groups quietly disbanded, some re-remerging as something else, most not. Festivals shrunk or departed, funds drying up enough to hurt even the most venerated of organizations. Fewer concerts were seen, though only someone who did not live in New York probably noticed. The Metropolitan Opera finished one season and started another, hits and misses rolling out of the machine like fine-tuned clockwork. Broadway saw some exceptional shows and some extraordinary performances…and a few times when show and performance were unforgettable. But mostly not. The Classical Music recordings were more egalitarian than some years: a plethora of new works and under-recorded composers arrived on smaller labels, making them far more enticing than the ‘same old stuff’ from the larger companies. And lovers of Stephen Sondheim had a feast of a year. Still, with the Occupy Wall Street movement—and its children—very much alive, more and more people turned away from public performances. No, 2011 was not a banner year for those who love The Arts in New York. It had its joys but they were not particularly copious; in fact, they were depressingly fewer than in previous years...at least, for me.

Of course, the big, sad story here is the end of the once ‘essential’ New York City Opera. And the truth needs to be faced: no one was going. Popular works, new works, seldom seen works—none brought in crowds. The reasons are probably myriad…and immaterial. No one came, short and simple. Whether some new organization will rise from the ashes, phoenix-like, no one knows yet. (Announcements keep appearing, including this week.) But its decline has been slow, steady, and painful. Had The Met produced something like Bernstein’s A Quiet Place, it would have drawn people in—I have no doubt. The older company has a larger fan base, more curious patrons, more publicity, more underwriters. The work is beautiful, if odd. But so are The Nose and From the House of the Dead and Satyagraha and Doctor Atomic. And Bernstein’s name would bring in paying customers from outside the opera world had they known about it. But that was part of the problem: no one knew about it. At New York City Opera, it came and went with little or no fanfare. It was doomed before it opened. I have hope that something can be done to save the ‘common people’s’ company, but believe it is gone. And that is heartbreaking to true opera fans. Some wonderful shows—and wonderful singers—graced its stage. May they find a place where, once again, they can shine.

The Met ended one season and started another with its machinery firmly in place. People came to see some lackluster productions, with lackluster performances, garnering lackluster reviews. A few stand out: Capriccio with a radiant Renèe Fleming was one. Anna Bolena with an impressive Anna Netrebko was another. (I must admit, once again, I like Netrebko more than I love her. Too much of her bel canto feels precise rather than spontaneous. Still, she shone as Bolena more than some of her earlier roles.) But far too many offerings were mediocre—neither great nor terrible. That is the nature of the art form, but the last few seasons have been disheartening, at least to me. Too much I have skipped from a lack of interest. Maybe Götterdämmerung was wonderful. But judging from the audio broadcast, probably not. Even the upcoming Billy Budd has some casting issues. I’ll do my best to be there, but with gritted teeth: I love the work that much.

The best opera experience I had this year was Opera Company of Philadelphia’s Phaedra by Hans Werner Henze. A chamber opera, it was perfect for the group’s smaller space. The singers were worthy of the material, (especially the Phaedra of Tamara Mumford, despite some over-singing, and best of all, the lyric tenor William Burden) the staging cogent, impressive, apt, and the music filled the hall with moving intensity. Corrado Rovaris was the expert conductor. The opera has many beauties, and some painful, violent passages that counterbalance the lyricism. The performance I saw was with an all-but sold-out crowd, most of them intrigued: very few coughs, only a few walk-outs (expected) but very few for such a challenging work. Most people seemed rapt. The talk afterwards was positive, from what I heard. Besides, I’ve seen people walk out of The Met during some classic pieces—it’s hardly a sign of worth or popularity or approval.

Naxos, and the labels it releases, continued its robust recordings of lesser known and new works in every genre of classical music. They were the brightest light in the classical music ‘world’. Operas included Anna Nicole by Mark-Anthony Turnage; the prolific Einojuhani Rautavaara’s The Mine and Aleksis Kivi; the anything-but-easy-to-love Medea by Aribert Reimann, plus the rare 19^th Century Il convitato di pietra (The Stone Guest) by the equally rare Giovanni Pacini –yes, the same source as Don Giovanni; and the rare Donizetti work, Marino Faliero. Symphonies arrived by Alexander Borodin, Malcolm Arnold, John Corigliano, Howard Hanson, Morton Gould, and Havergal Brian . Concerti were particularly popular, counting piano by John Ireland, Frederick Delius, Aram Khachaturian; violin by William Alwyn, Max Bruch, Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco; plus every other instrument known to man, including percussion battery by Joseph Schwantner. Chamber music thrived: flute music by Ned Rorem, piano music by Arvo Pärt and Roberto Gerhard (a favorite composer of mine), and guitar music by Aaron Jay Kernis (another favorite composer of mine). This list doesn’t even scratch the surface, much less name all the rare works that came out in 2011. The major labels continued to disappoint, though The Met broadcasts are worth buying (mostly) and Anna Bolena with Netrebko is an important addition to the video catalogue. Plus, I am happy London/Decca is re-releasing some of the Entartete Musik recordings of works by composers killed or displaced by the Nazis. But the smaller labels were the place to find the works not over recorded elsewhere. Those releases were a great sign of continued health, at least for recordings that do not have to sell thousands of copies to make a profit. But 2012? A crap shoot.

What is good? Great?

2011-11-16T14:04:00.000-08:00

Fairly deep into the Met's season and I am contemplating the same thing I do every year: why do audiences so readily accept performance inadequacies in singers they would condemn in any other musical 'instrument'?     I have no answer--more than once I have found myself sitting there lock-jawed in disbelief at some yelps coming from the stage (or screen) while everyone around me screams in ecstasy.    I could list a book's worth of reasons to support my 'judgement' but such an act proves nothing and just makes me seem like a dickhead.   So I've decided to go the opposite directions: performers and / or performances that should make me cover my ears or grit my teeth, but which I have a fondness for (or a time or two, a love for) and think of them with wonderful satisfaction--or listen to them again and again.

Katia Ricciarelli would be no one's idea of a singer with flawless technique.    She had a noticeable wobble when she tried to sing loudly in the upper reaches, she pushed her tone into shrillness, she 'faked' her way through roles she had no business singing or recording, her diction was merely acceptable at best.   She was not a natural on the stage--not stiff, but hardly anyone's idea of a wonderful actress.    But...   She tried to sing with emotion.   Rarely did she just sing notes.    She understood the power of legato in Italian music of the 19th Century.     When she was 'faking' it, she offered something characterful in place of the actual 'requirements' asked by the composer.     And her voice could express sadness, melancholy, happiness, love.     She could make you forgive her faults if you could appreciate what she had to give.    Unashamed, I love her Un Ballo in Maschera with Placido Domingo.    I can't imagine anyone would think this is the best Ballo ever recorded.     Her faults are in evidence (but not as strongly as in some recordings) but so are her strengths.    Her character is scared, emotionally divided, eventually heartbroken.    Somehow, the vocal 'faults' add sympathy to this woman's plight rather than take away from it.    And she has some lovely singing in it.    It helps that Domingo is singing one of his greatest roles.     I have several recordings of her which I enjoy.    I even have a special fondness for what has to be the worst recording she ever made: Turandot.     She is obviously waaaaaay over her head.     She sounds strained.     Worst, she sounds like she won't make it to the end.     But Turandot suddenly becomes a young woman at her wit's end.    She is desperately horrified but all the murder yet frightened by the opposite possibility.     She has only a few lovely moments without strain or wobble, but for some reason, I find her take on the character--usually portrayed as a somewhat one-dimensional 'ice queen' thawed by true love--as something deeply human.    Truthfully, the inadequacies are myriad.    But despite all the problems, I still return to it.     The recordings that are this vocally problematic that I hear multiple times can be counted on my two hands, with fingers left over, so this is an aberration for me.   Still, I enjoy it.

Josephine Barstow has sung many of the same roles as Ricciarelli, but far less recorded (though I have some radio performances.)     She is the opposite of her Italian counterpoint: she is a great vocal actress.    Nothing she sings is just 'sung'.    She has colors, inflections, dynamics, 'emotions' that very few singers can manage.    Her Ballo is one-of-a-kind: no one has sung it with this much variety, save Maria Callas.   But like Callas, she has an peculiar basic tone (yes, Callas had an odd tone, live with it) and can put too much pressure on the voice so it can turn a bit shrill or wobble freely.     But listen to her third act aria.    The whole rang of what the woman is saying is there in the singing.    She is partnered with Domingo as well.    Maybe he has something to do with bringing out the best in his sopranos.    She has also sung 20th Century music--some important premieres, some important composers,some important recordings--and this is where she shines the most.    She premiered one of the strangest characters in all opera: Denise in The Knot Garden.    She is an angry, physically deformed, vengeful victim of torture.    The music is extreme at times.    But what a fascinating individual, and how well a young Barstow sings it!    Once heard, it is hard to forget, especially her grand scena where she interrupts the action to rail against (the loss of ) humanity.     And at the opposite end of her career, she sang and recorded Elizabeth I in Benjamin Britten's Gloriana.    Again, a woman with infinite variety.   Barstow does it justice.    Her heartbreak is ours.    Magnificent.   Vocally perfect?   Hardly.   Unforgettable?    Absolutely.

And to end, one of the most polarizing singers, well, ever: Peter Pears.    He is no conventional Romantic tenor.   His tone lacks the dark tones expected of the heroic Italian tradition.   And he does not express youthful, love-sick, innocent feelings well.    And odd tone is an understatement.    No one sounds like him.     And as almost any opera lover knows, he was the life partner of Benjamin Britten, who wrote great piece after great piece with Pears' particular strengths in his ears.    And some (frankly, far too many) opera lovers dismiss him because of this, but I think they miss the artistry, the point of his singing.    Britten (and others like Michael Tippett, William Walton, and Hans Werner Henze) would not have written for him if he were a sub-par singer.   He is anything but.   His technique is rock solid.   He has no pitch problems, no great strain, no wobble.    He is quite expressive, if not in the Italian tradition.     AND NO ONE MATCHES HIS PETER GRIMES!!!!!     I emphasize this because for many years, people have named one singer after another who are (supposedly) superior in their interpretations.    Bullshit.    Jon Vickers has much to offer, true, but he is no closet poet, which is a great part of Grimes' downfall.    He tries, but is somewhat unconvincing in those scenes, too much the wild fisherman.    He sounds (and looks) like he wouldn't need a helper to fish.   So the ambiguity built into the role is lacking something, including the final scene (and what a great scene it is.)   Pears finds ever nuance.   And not just on record.   His video, made late in life, is illuminating.    Compare it to Vickers', (who has vocal problems galore, by the way.) The details show how perfect Pears was in the role.    Vickers is merely good.   And all the way through until the final great role, Aschenbach in Death In Venice.   I don't give a damn if his tone isn't 'tradtional'. This is great singing, even in just aural form.    Wow.     What a marvelous work!    And Pears' only real competition is Philip Langridge, a singer who has also a peculiar tone, but who also had a strong technique.

And on they go.   Deborah Polaski at the Met in Elektra.    (One of the greatest performances I have ever been lucky enough to experience.)      On video, Anna Evans in Gotterdammerung at Bayreuth.    (So vulnerable, human.)    Anna Caterina Antonacci in Les Troyens.   (So full of great interpretive insights.)    Heinz Zednik in most of his recordings, including the Met video of Siegfried.   What a fascinating Mime. (Ugly, nontraditional, forced at times, but never boring.    Never.)

But mostly, bad technique leads to bad singing and great displeasure for me.   (So, technically, Pears has nothing to complain about)   But even I have to admit, sometimes, perfection isn't everything.

A word...or an interview?

2011-11-12T21:37:00.000-08:00

Billy Crystal will be a good host. He's funny, dependable, uncontroversial. He will not help the sagging ratings, though. That's why the Academy went with someone who they thought would be outrageous, 'relevant', hip (if not younger, but you can't have everything.) They need more 18 to 35 males. So they hired Eddie Murphy and his friend as producer. That would be Brett Ratner, he of the (now infamous) big offensive mouth. But the headlines have become misleading. He was not pushed to resign because of his off-handed homophobic slur "Rehearsal is for fags." The Academy was willing to forgive him for that (!) He apologized and the Academy went a well-worded version of 'he shouldn't have done that, we don't condone that, he said he was sorry, and you know how guys can be.' The interview where he talked about sexual prowess, veneral disease, and Lindsey Lohan was the final straw. (Closer to a bale of straw.) Eddie Murphy 'resigned' closely thereafter, though no offical reason was given. Most people I have read assume it's because he didn't want to be the host without his friend. That seems to have been a requirement for his acceptance. I suspect he didn't want the scrutiny. All guesses, though. Nothing offical. The truth on that will proably never be told. So Ratner is out, Murphy is out, Crystal is in, and a completely safe producer is in place to keep things in line. (I'll leave him nameless, out of sympathy. He will have a completely ungrateful, unfair job to do.) It's easy to just say it was the slur to gay men that brought down the 'savior' of The Oscars. It makes for a better headline. And that does have some worth: he should have been fired for that. Alas, he was not. Had he not given the later interview, he would still have his job. That, dear folks, is (still) show biz.

All the colors...except the rainbow

2011-11-06T19:47:00.000-08:00

Odd how things happen simultaneously, but in the midst of the (admittedly tame) 'dialogue' about Porgy and Bess, the television show Blue Bloods has shown the most offensive, ignorant, racist hour I have seen on Network TV in decades.    The main (conservative / saint) character--the Police Commissioner of New York City--is played by one of the most vocally conservative actors working: Tom Selleck.    He is always right (pun intended) always fair, always infallible.    His last name is Reagan.   And here I thought CSI:NY was the top right-wing propaganda disguised as a crime procedural.    Sorry, C-Y, you have been upstaged.    Tom Selleck proves to the world that racism does not exist in the NYPD: he says so, so it must be true.   He's tired of people (guess which group) attacking 'his' city's police force which is now completely integrated with all races and both sexes, leaving out gays and lesbians, of course, because obviously, they do not belong with the rest of the good people of the NYPD.    Worse, there is a giant conspiracy of black men claiming to be Christians (not kidding), led by a popular minister (of course it's not based on life), who attack two innocent white cops then claim it was the other way around--just to create fake publicity to garner enough political power to have Selleck replaced(!)     (He's the only thing standing in the way of their evil agenda.) This 'Reverand' always finds his face in front of a camera, is always screaming racism, but has to be corrupt, lest the audience question anything that is actually happening in New York today.    The new Mayor is also black, but of mixed race (one guess who he resembles), and also a smooth politician rather than a 'true' defender of the good like Selleck.    No use calling him 'Reagan'.   (Unless it's to compare the current political ideas to the President's.)    It's Selleck / conservative / GOP speak, so let's label it correctly.    No one says African-American.    That's too p. c.    It's not 'real'. These are tough, tell-it-like-it-is patriots.    'Black' and 'white' is good enough for them.    (It was good enough for Grandpa?)    I'll go along with that: black and white is how they see everything, because they know their target fan base.

There were little details throughout the hour which would make an actual thinking New Yorker stare in disbelief.     The 'bad' blacks are very dark skinned.    The only (partially) 'good' black is light-skinned.    (I've already suggested who he looks like.) The crotchety grandfather keeps spouting ludicrous lines about how unfair this 'Reverand' is ('he sure doesn't act like our good Catholic priests' are the implied lines) and how everything he says can't be trusted, etc.  "When I was Commissioner... "    I had the distinct feeling he said something about "our Negroes" in an earlier draft.     And then he tops them all at Sunday dinner, when he says (I'm paraphrasing--I couldn't bear to watch it again) "White, black, brown or purple, we're all blue."   'White' seems to mean the truly good people like the Reagans.    ' Black' must mean those people who do not question anything that's happening in New York--or American society--and thus, see everything like the Reagans.    'Brown' must mean Hispanics, though they were never shown or involved.   And purple? Well, all I can think of is Barney.    He is so discriminated against.   I don't have to tell you that 'blue' means the police force, but I'd say he named the wrong color--the red states are the target areas, the desired fan base.   Even the 'let's try to see both sides of the argument' conversations around the dinner table of the first season have been replaced with 'let's talk about the one, true, right side of every issue' conversations instead.     On the surface, everything was completely 'fair.'     Much double-talk was offered to clearly state that these were just some black people.    And, of course, having the Mayor be black justifies everything.    Having him be a slick, self-serving politician, gives the fan base what it thinks it already knows.     And naturally, none of the white people have any kind of prejudice, well, except maybe toward faggots, but the writers/producers/actors take the 'love that dare not speak its name' literally.   As I've mentioned, the 'fags' are never heard and never shown,  so that issue never has to be raised.    Along the way, no one confronts the reason(s) why those crowds of black people screaming for justice are so easily duped...because  they are the true bigots?   They only watch the news or read a newspaper when the 'Reverend' is on it, in it?    They're just too stupid?    They were the only people who showed up for casting?

Maybe if the last decade had not seen so many racially divisive, police-caused deaths (all ending in favor of the police) the show would just be ridiculous.    But anyone living in New York during that time-- or is aware of what has been happening in New York--can only be appalled at such a despicable program passing itself off as a righteous one.     The Commissioner even delineates a 'decade' as the time it took New York to miraculously become diversified.     You half expect him to land on an aircraft carrier and declare, "The race war is over!    Time for the 'real' Americans to take back popular entertainment."   (No one gives a fuck about the 'higher arts.')    Maybe they should have had a disclaimer before it started: "anyone resembling actual people who are not one-sidedly conservative is strictly unintentional."     Yeah, I know, it makes up for aaaaaaaaaaalllll those horribly incorrect 'liberal' shows that flood the airways.

So, Suzan-Lori Parks, hurry up and 'fix' (if you haven't already) Porgy and Bess for all those 'good' people who would be offended by all those 'destructive stereotypes' perpetrated by two Jews and a white man in 1935.     Because a large portion of America no longer sees other races as stereotypes: they have become the definition of 'enemy'.     Any of them who do not fall in line.    Even on innocuous TV.     The sixties are with us again, it seems, full force.    We're trying--and failing--to occupy Wall Street.    A man named Cain is walking around in blackface.    'Segregation' has become a topic again.    Really.   'Homosexuals', and their agenda, are destroying our families...when they aren't destroying our military.   (A constitutional amendment is desperately needed to decisively defeat them once and for all.)     Illegal intruders are bringing the pestilence of drugs, not to mention the destruction of the work force and decimation of our tax money.    Please, Ms. Parks--come back to your own work.     We need you now more than ever.

Held my Post

2011-10-30T22:31:00.000-07:00

I had written a discussion of Porgy and Bess, but I want to think about it before it goes out. I did publish it for a few minutes, so if you received a copy, know I will revisit it when I have seen the production that is causing all the stir. I was trying to bemore general but I fear I was less successful than I wanted to be. So it will come back. I'll post something in its place in a day or two.

Elation

2011-10-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

     Well, if I'm going to complain about unadventurous musical things, I should praise something that was a huge risk which seems to be working out: Stephen Sondheim's Follies (and James Goldman's book, of course, but NO ONE is going for his work.)    This is the giant show to end all giant shows.    Dozens of speaking /singing parts.    Huge score: 21 separate vocal numbers, a now famous opening instrumental prelude for the ghosts, a dance number not even written by Sondheim, and improvised background music that underscores most of the show.    And the 'big' numbers, written in the style of show music from the twenties to the forties, are sung (and occasionally danced) by older actors/singers, making it that much more difficult to cast.    And though it has humor, Follies is essentially a bleak view of the costs of aging on 'dreams'.   As almost anyone who is even remotedly familiar with the piece, the title has a double meaning.
       The show was revived ten years ago to poor reviews, a huge loss of money, and a quick closing notice.    (I've seen a boot-leg copy shot from the balcony.    I was expecting a' miss' where things just didn't gel or were poorly directed or acted, etc.    To my shock, it was surprisingly well done.    No idea why the reviews were so mixed.)   So what's different now?
        Timing, for one thing.     Ten years ago, the country was on a high of conservatism.    This show is not family friendly: because it is about what happens when your family is grown or old or dead.    The Lion King is extremely family friendly.    It has a score people already know combined with great showmanship.   Nothing wrong with that.    The history of Broadway, hell, any performance-based art form, has been style and showmanship in tandem with smart writing.    Hooray for The Lion King!    But it is still style over (worthwhile) substance.    Follies is style alright, but combined with painful, thought-provoking, audacious, cynical, life-affirming while heart-breaking substance.    You leave feeling like you've seen one of the greatest works ever written.    Because you have.    Hamlet isn't happy either.   But in the Summer of 2001, no one wanted cynicism.     Cut to today.   Life is rife with cynicism.   People have been sitting for days in protest of Wall Street and what they believe it stands for.    Naturally, they are being used (more often in a hate-filled way) as a political sword, slashing away at the 'other' side, mostly ignoring what the protestors are actually saying.    The country is hurting, the bigots are out, and the large majority of us are frozen in fear or frustration.    So a show about reality crashing into your failed dreams seems like the news.     But with something humane at its center.    This aspect has been missed by (too) many critics of the piece, going all the way back to its original production.     It's easy to overlook: so much is happening and all through a fractured theatrical prism. But 'life will go on' is the theme that lingers.    Life, imperfect though it may be, has to.
     And casting.   Bernadette Peters is riding a wave of success from her amazing (I saw it) performance in A Little Night Music, the Sondheim show written just after Follies.    Believe me, if you didn't see it, you cannot fully understand why so many were telling people they would remember it for the rest of their lives.     The young opera singer sitting next to me said Peters' performance changed her life and how she would approach performing.    I doubt she was exaggerating.   And Peters had been in the original casts of Sunday In The Park With George and Into the Woods, classics now.   And she had sung the lead in a concert version of an early Sondhiem: Anyone Can Whistle.   And she gave a concert dedicated (mostly) to his music.   So Peters and another iconic Sondheim has its own appeal.   But the other three 'leads' are cast with great people, known and loved in New York.
      And the production.     The producers have not skimped on the cast size or the orchestra or costumes or the other aspects that the production really needs.   It is not a carbon copy of some other production, but a fresh take on it.     The score really is as wonderful as any written.   Great number after great number.   Chances for good performers to show their stuff. And this production seems to hit people the right way.    We may never witness its like again.    So go see it instead of the same old Boheme.    Or Lion King again.   Follies is a force for good--art that does not pander to the lowest common denominator.    So what that it will only be around until January?   That is enough.

Depression

2011-10-10T14:15:00.000-07:00

Back online after a long time of busy life and reflection on art-making in the "new" America--where neo-Nazis pose as 'concerned' citizens, real concerned citizens are denounced as 'un-American' by the same people (or their enablers), arts organizations drop like flies, funding vanishing, audiences vanishing, corporate funding for fewer and fewer (and almost always for things they know will be 'popular' not important--though this has always been the case for the most part), musuem-enbalmed 'musical performances' of the same repeating pattern: 75% war horses, 24% safe but under-played works, and 1% 'new' things, usually pale imitations of their betters.    Not that any of this is particularly new, but now it is almost all that is there.    Exceptions are indeed everywhere but they make up a dwindling minority, and even the 'new' is mostly older well-established musicians doing the same thing.    Yeah,yeah, yeah, I'm beating the same drum.    But I fear drums are banging in a ghetto chasm of re-runs.    And my heart just doesn't seem to be where it was.
         The Metropolitan Opera is a perfect storm of mediocrity right now.   The adventurous planning of a few years ago is back to business as usual.    The 'new' productions have little to offer, or like the Don Carlo, are left to dwindle into dullness.     Watching the televised presentation of last year's production, I felt a horrible sense of waste.    These were talented people walking through a masterpiece like automatons (I'd say zombies, but zombies would have been interesting.)   Any performance that makes Simon Keenleyside and Ferruccio Furlanetto look like amateurs has failed miserbly.    And the immediacy of the close-up view has been marred by poor choices.     I watched all the video productions and all of them had musically inept camera moves.     The sense of drama that was a hallmark of the first couple of seasons seems to have gone, vanished.    Well, it thrives in one or two cases, but mostly it's not there.     I watched some of the older ones to check to see if it was just my mood.   No, to a one that I own, the older were better.    How depressing!
       Sure, the Lucia with a one-of-a-kind Dessay was watchable, even with some really stupid filming, because Dessay--love her or hate her--will always be watchable.     How conventional Netrebko seems, comforting in her talented, 'tradtional' interpretation!    Yes, she is quite good, though the voice is getting harder, her notes are drooping into flatness, her 'emotional' treatments growing too predictable.    I still like her fine, but I don't love her.    Why?    There is much to enjoy, she never walks through anything like a robot, she sings with passion.     But it doesn't add up to gloriously wonderful to me.     I mean her no harm, nor disrespect.     She is a beautiful,talented woman.    But where is that spark of something different?    I haven't seen it.    Maybe that's what I miss.   And many of the reviewers vilified Dessay while over-comparing her to Netrebko.   No, Dessay is sui generis.    Netrebko is a very good, sometimes exciting musician.    And then there was Il Trovatore which was a debacle of enormous dimensions.
       At least Netrebko is offering something new with her Anna Bolena.    I think she will be a very good fit.    (I'll see.)    Otherwise, more of the same 'same''.     Does anyone really want to see Macbeth with those singers?   Or this Aida?    Or this Barbiere or Don Giovanni?   Nabucco?   Ernani?   (That seems particularly inapt right now.)   Sure, we have some great operas that are rarely done: Billy Budd, Makropulos Case, Khovanschina but James Morris is set to destroy Budd (God, someone shoot him so he will stop!), Makropulos is an ensemble work which have not been cast well lately, and Khovanshchina is loooong, cobbled together, flawed--though beautiful--work that is also an ensemble cast, but is tied to a weak libretto (maybe because it was never quite finished.)   And I fear for all of these.    If the Met can't make Don Carlo work, what chance does a Billy Budd have?     You need three amazing singer/actors and an inspired conductor.    The first half of these requirements is already not there.    And David Robertson is hit-or-miss.    Makropulos is here to showcase Mattila (which I'm all for) but it isn't a showcase kind of a role.    And the conductor is a mystery, so this could be great or awful.    At least there is some question.     You could not pay me to go sit through Aida.    Or Patricia Racette destroy Butterfly again to wildly idiotic ovations.     Why are people encouraging this once-fine singer to shriek her way through a role she never had any business singing?   Are they deaf?
      And the really terrible thing is: the Met is doing just fine as far as I know.    They have curtailed some 'big' productions to keep costs down, but other than that, all seems well.    With the New York City Opera all but dead, the smaller venues so far under the radar they might as well not be there (they might help themselves if they did more adventurous work) and the (wonderful) William Christie tours only here for very short periods, opera seems depressingly like it was.    I don't want like it was.   I want From the House of The Dead.    I want The Nose.    I want a marvelous Lulu not a polite, poorly cast one.   I want Renee Fleming to stop doing the same five roles.    I want a Henze opera, or a Birtwistle, or even a Gloriana to go with the Billy Budd.   I want something to transport me while the country falls apart around me.    I want art to remember.    And I'm only talking about opera in one particular house.    Beneath that?    Chaos.

What is Art?

2011-08-21T21:25:00.000-07:00

Now that the cultural phenomenon that was The Metropolitan Museum Of Art's installation of Alexander McQueen's fashions, some questions come to mind, age old questions like: what is art and is it relevant and how many people seeing (or hearing or watching) something equals greatness? No answers exist, of course--or more accurately, endless postulations exist with no final decisions possible, except person by person. So this person asks them--and tries to give some answers. (Which anyone can take or leave, naturally.)

To cheat a bit, art is anything someone considers art. Hardly Earth-shattering. And I am thrilled a museum considers clothing design art. "Design" implies artistry. No question, McQueen was an artist. But is that why people liked his work? Really, with no excuses, how many people went because the man was famous for putting clothes on rich, exciting, fabulous people who showed up at well documented events wearing something he put his name on? I'm not saying this is necessarily a bad thing--but I fear it is not a particularly good one either. Worth, skill, originality are not in the vocabulary of most of the people waiting hours in line. They wanted to see up close what they've seen on TV. They probably couldn't give a damn about anything else in the building. The prevalent wisdom is that exposure to the other pieces that were on view to the hordes in line would somehow make them want to come back. Right. How many will that mean? 100? Sure, it's good for the 100 but does it further any kind of knowledge about anything else than celebrity to the 99.99999% of the remaining viewers? Isn't that what this is--the cult of the celebrity? I guess it could be argued that seeing a Michelangelo sculpture is just a variation on the same. Probably. Still, it's depressing. What if someone named Skidder had carved David? Would we recognize its greatness? My guess: no. And what about all those artists who are no longer being taught in schools because they won't appear on any tests? Is their art now lessened? Since fewer and fewer people are learning who, I don't know, Thomas Eakins was, will his work eventually disappear from the higher institutions? And what about his 'nameless' contemporaries? Sure, museums hang some of them, but for how long? The Alexander McQueens of the world will always pull in bigger crowds. With dwindling funds, fewer donors, fewer visitors, how long before smaller places only hang 'crowd pleasers' to pay the bills? The Met will go on without the enormous crowds...they already get enormous crowds, even on days between exhibits. But the past is becoming less and less a part of our education system. People aren't encouraged to know, or care, about anything that is not disposable or popular on some electronic device. I would guess most of my relatives have no idea who Thomas Eakins was. This is tragic to me. Eakins was an influential, talented man. They would like his art, I have no doubt. But fewer people in the world saw his work than Alexander McQueen's one summer in 2011, probably even if you counted all the people who went to all the museums where Eakins is displayed. And saddest of all? Just how many people cared?

Listening Experiment

2011-07-30T16:34:00.000-07:00

Taking my last post as a jumping off point, I listened to two very different pieces to see how my new reactions might differ from my original ones (though I never wrote the first ones down. Sorry about that.) I chose a piece I did not 'appreciate': Luciano Berio's Laborintus II and one I did: Nicholas Maw's Violin Concerto. Yes, their styles are completely different, but that is the point of the thing: how does emotion and mental acuity play into (my) perceptions. I listened to them only once, on the same day, with a sizable break between. I will admit upfront I was surprised by my response. I enjoyed the 'experiment' thoroughly. What conclusions did I draw? Well, let me tell you what I heard...this time.
Berio's piece is an early one compared to the more famous, 'influential' ones. It has a 'libretto' (no plot nor narrative drive is at play) by a Dante Scholar and poet Edoardo Sanguineti. It is scored for tape, narrator, three female voices, a mixed choir of eight, and ensemble from which a jazz combo can be formed. It contains poems by Sanguineti, plus texts from Dante, the Bible, T. S. Eliot and Ezra Pound. They all have something to do with each other, but explanations are unnecessary, because the music neither 'explains' the texts nor 'enlightens' them. Frankly, they could be any group of words. It was commissioned by the French and Italian Radios to celebrate the 700th anniversary of Dante's birth. So the Dante connections make sense. The rest? Well, the Narrator does have to speak very quickly to get some of them in before his 'time' is up. On my recording, Sanguineti is the narrator. That must have helped.
I am a true fan of Berio, but I find (to my irritation or impatience) that he has these pieces I call 'sketches'--works that seem to hold unperfected ideas that will find far more success in larger, better, more accomplished works. ('Sketch' does not imply shorter length in his case...alas.) Certainly half-formed ideas here will show up in Sinfonia and Coro, not to mention his operas that occupied him during the later years of his life. For one thing, Sanguineti formed the performing texts for both of those following masterpieces using many of the same authors. And the musical ideas--in particular, the overlapping, 'battle' of voices both sung and spoken; the deconstruction of words into morphemes, vowel sounds, even phonemes repeated in no particular order; the soloistic / virtuosic nature of the instrumental parts; the abrupt changes in musical style, especially the appearance of some form of pop music; the juxtaposition of two things that do not share any obvious qualities --will show up over and over throughout his career, sometimes more successfully, sometimes less. The more of his work you know, the more likely you are to hear the connections and enjoy seeing where they came from. But Laborintus II is roughly thirty-five minutes long. It is episodic to a fault. Ideas seem to either evaporate before you can grasp their make-up or drone on long after their pleasure has past. Certainly, multiple sopranos will be used far more advantageously in later pieces like the two named and one of his great operas, Un Re In Ascolto (A King Listens). Not that this piece has no merits--on the contrary, this is a major composer fleshing out important ideas he will use for decades. The vocal music is for the most part masterly, if a bit disjointed at times. The flashes of fragments of jazz poking out of the fabric of the first half comes to fruition in a delightful jazz combo fighting for its life amongst all the other things going on (it loses, by the way.) The ideas that would soon lead to O King are here in miniature and can be beautiful, as they are in the later work (though not much later, a few years.) But mostly, I still feel, this is a 'worksheet' on 'what to use later in my better pieces.' Well. I liked it more than I first did, certainly, but I am still not won over. I'd rather listen to Sinfonia.
Nicholas Maw wrote his Violin Concerto 'for' Joshua Bell, claiming he had finally heard someone who was in the grand Romantic line of violinists. (Or so says Bruce Adolphe in the liner notes. The conversation took place in Maw's kitchen while the composer carved a turkey. I want to ask, "How many violinists were you listening to?" I can name at least half a dozen who could lay more claim to the title back then. And now, triple that. ) So the piece was premiered by the people who play on the recording: Joshua "Romantic" Bell, the conductor Roger Norrington, and the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Bell plays wonderfully, actually, though I still wouldn't call him a "Romantic" violinist. He seems to prefer a more "Classical" balance of things (for want of a more technical term) where nothing is too understated nor too overstated, the tone never too dark or coarse, nor, in fact, anything but lovely. Sometimes this suits the music perfectly; sometimes, it does not help it through some of its weaker points, where someone less afraid to go too far might conceal weakness a bit better. For the piece has some. One: a huge mistake in my mind, a poor idea overextended. It doesn't destroy the piece, but it blunts its impact.
The work is in four movements: 1) Prelude 2) Scherzo 3) Romanza 4) Finale marked Allegro moderato e grazioso. The style owes something to the mid-Twentieth Century Romantics, like Barber, but far more through-composed in form. The movements have some ideas that bind them together very loosely: some melodic shapes that return, rhythmic motives, a recurring idea where the lower strings play a unison slow melody, usually forte, while the violin spins high free-flowing countermelodies. A few others too technical to describe. Most of the music is slow(-ish or not so -ish)--not all of it it, mind you, but more than half. This tends to lessen the effect at times, but only for short durations. The Prelude has one or two too many slow builds to a climax. We'll skip the Scherzo and say the Romanza is lovely, probably the most successful of the four, and the Finale is a bit fragmented, luckily coming together with a welcome satisfaction at the end with some strong music. But it does have a few awkward spots, meanders for a few short stretches, before finding its footing. Not that I couldn't follow it, any of it. It is most skillfully written. Maw knows what he is doing as he should after writing music for forty years. This is not abnormally complex music (nor too simple) but close concentration is needed for you not to drift off a bit on occasion. Still, three of the four movements have mostly beautiful, memorable, enjoyable writing. 'Beautiful' often comes to mind while listening. But there's that Scherzo. Unfortunately. It begins quite well: interesting fast movement of even note values, moving from small cells to larger, broader melodies...and then it gets highjacked by a big slow movement in the middle (!) Why???? We've just had a slow movement to start (over ten minutes) and will have another at Scherzo's end. And this is the least well-crafted of the lot. And it seems to lose what momentum the movement had. But Maw goes back to the original material and you shake your head but sigh relief that you're back on more solid ground. And then he does it again. Slower. Thinner, mostly for long held chords with violin obbligato. For more than just a passing instance. Deadly. Not ugly, just deadly. Boring even. A really poor idea that such an experienced composer should not use. It all but ruins the effect of the beginning of the Romanza which begins like a second cousin to the chords in Britten's Billy Budd --the scene where Vere goes inside to tell Budd he has been sentenced to death. If you know the opera, you know what I mean. Isolated chords, in this case with small movements within them (just chords in the Britten.) The piece moves into more lovely complexity, a fine chance for the violinist to play beautifully in all registers, which, of course, Bell does in spades. The piece is a marvel of finely detailed work. It would work perfectly well on its own. If I could, I would cut the Scherzo right before it 'dies' and move directly into the true slow movement. Maybe if this is how the piece went, the small weaknesses of the outer movements would pale. Probably. I was mostly happy with the Prelude. The myriad ideas of the Finale might seem more germane if the piece hadn't been breaking into these slow reveries so often. I found some flaws with it the first time I heard it. I didn't like the Scherzo then either (from my recollection.) I liked the outer movements more then (though I like them quite a lot now.) I appreciate the Romanza more now. Frankly, if a more risky, highly emotional soloist and conductor played it, they might help that big giant gaffe. Say, Gil Shaham and Simon Rattle. Or maybe not. In a few more years?

In the mood

2011-07-10T19:15:00.000-07:00

Like many people in The Arts (capitalized, naturally), I have bi-polar disorder. Yes, me and Catherine Zeta-Jones. Some people affected by this are stigmatized by ignorant people who either overreact or dismiss it, so often sufferers keep it hidden, from a real fear of mistreatment. But public education is heightening awareness of this and thus, aiding responses. Zeta-Jones should be commended. Public perception is everything in Hollywood. If a producer thinks she might hold up production even one day, they will most likely not use her. Luckily, medicine helps me—others with the disorder are not so lucky. But I am anything but “cured”. I still experience symptoms, both elevated and depressed. Due to this, though, I examine my emotional responses more than most people without it. It is easy to overreact when I’ve done or said something unintentionally that may have bothered someone—and they let me know it in a blunt or cutting way. This can make life a bit difficult, but who doesn’t have problems? I’ve grown to live with it. And it has its benefits. When I experience a truly wonderful performance, or play, or piece of music, of work of art, I can feel it deeply. That adrenaline rush can make even low emotions rise. And I believe this helps me perform. I think I can communicate emotions rather well since I am so aware of them. Sometimes. Let us not sugar coat things. Some days, nothing gives relief. But it passes, as long as I take my medicine, which I will take for the rest of my life. This is a serious life-altering problem. If you think you are experiencing some extreme emotional changes, seek help. Go here to find out more information: http://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/default.htm. And see a doctor. Please. The sooner the better. Symptoms can grow extreme without treatment. For the people who love you, if not for yourself.

But with all this self-reflection, I have come to ask myself some interesting questions involving my reactions to artistic experiences (and other’s as well.) So often people watching, listening to, or looking at a work declare they do not like it, with the caveat “maybe I just wasn’t in the right mood.” How often is this really true? I’ve said it myself, but I mean it. Really. I rarely just drop the matter. When I think that, I try to revisit it later to prove my hypothesis. Was I truly in the wrong mood? Sometimes, I truly was. And the opposite can also be true: sometimes I’m in such a great mood, a piece can seem better than it probably is—using my own personal scale, naturally. One man or woman’s masterpiece is another’s misfire. [Which leads me to repeat one of my basic tenets of taste. Only morons think there are intrinsic values that everyone shares. No, Mozart’s works are not necessarily better than Britten’s . Their music has very little in common. I adore both of them. Avocados and pears have pits. Is one intrinsically better than the other? Frankly, Mozart’s music is less complex—if you use that as a criteria, Britten is a better musician(!) And nothing Verdi wrote remotely suggests he could write something on the scale of Berg’s Lulu, which proves neither one’s superiority nor inferiority. And I’ve only mentioned operas. The same goes for all the arts. Time to get rid of the prejudices. And to all who will continue to make the comparisons and find everyone other than the same “standard” artists wanting: maybe you’re just too lazy or too ignorant or even, maybe, you’re just too stupid to get what other artists are doing…ever thought of that? At least one New York Times reviewer I’d like to say that to, because he seems to be a little of all of three.]

So, my mood almost always dictates my reaction: but not just the first hearing, sometimes the second or fourth. And many things I have heard, watched, seen more times than that. This is where I find things get interesting. In a sentimental mood, I just can’t make my way through a Elliott Carter piece. His music isn’t sentimental. It’s brilliant, and often wonderful (I am a big fan of his piano concerto and his vocal piece A Mirror On Which To Dwell) but requires different needs. When I am in a clear-headed, probing mind-set, I can follow him to some far out places and get much excitement from the journey. Usually, I love Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, truly love it, but not always. Sometimes it just seems too overly familiar and perhaps a bit dull. I can listen to the same performance a month later and feel completely different about it. How many listener’s out there are feeling the same? No one I know ever says that (s)he never appreciated, say, Birtwistle’s Punch and Judy until heard the second (or, gasp! the third) time. But I know people who can listen to the same few pieces by Bach over and over and never be bored. (I have to ask…How?)

And what about those people who seem to dismiss anything not immediately ingratiating as useless, since “life is too short to listen to bad (useless, dull, ugly, complicated, ‘atonal’, modern, strange, new) things.” Are they actually trying to like these new works? Do they take into consideration their true feelings before they experienced them? Do they also mean it when they say “maybe I was just in the wrong mood”? Do they go back to give it a second chance? Don’t get me wrong: if I think a work is “junk”, it is usually “junk” when (or if) I hear it again. Lloyd Webber’s Cats is not Stravinky’s Requiem Canticles. (And, yes, I did give Cats another hearing. I’ve seen it. It is utter junk. I just needed to know a little more music before I could appreciate the Stravinsky.)

Well, life isn’t that short. And ingratiating is overrated. Cover your ears if your squeemish, but what the fuck does “ingratiating” even mean? Every piece and composer I have mentioned so far can be ingratiating heard in the right way. Yes, even Birtwistle. “People listen to what they know” doesn’t explain it all. I think mind-frame is a more accurate determiner. Case in point: an audience consisting mostly of older opera fans watched a 90 minute German piece written in odd atonal beauties mixed with violent musical ‘attacks’ for lack of a better word. The people in this audience were probably the same people who go to see Le Nozze di Figaro. But they came ready to hear what they could get from it. And the place was silent but for a couple of coughs. (And I do mean a couple.) The piece was Henze’s Phaedra. The loud ovation at the end was genuine. I was one of them—quite moved by its strange sonorities. I have a recording off the radio, so I was somewhat familiar with it, but the first listen, I did not come away with much. A second time, I was enraptured by it, and the third (the live performance) I was sure I was experiencing a masterpiece. But had I gone on my first impression, I would most likely have stayed at home. By the same token, the first time I heard Bernstein’s Wonderful Town, I thought it a gem. But further listens have always left me somewhat cold. It has its pleasures, still. But as a whole? I think I was just in a really good mood, so anything with some skill and some wit seemed brilliant. Sometimes, being happy can just give you the wrong impression. But I’ll keep listening ever so often. Just in case, it was just my mood.

Freedom

2011-07-03T16:38:00.000-07:00

The 4th of July is a big day for musicians (and other performers) so I celebrate the day not just for the country but for the men and women in it who are still able to do what they love and live by doing it. With so much fighting over every penny, The Arts are the easiest things to cut. For every win, like Gay Marriage in New York, we have a loss, like NEA dismantling. Yes, gay marriage is an appropriate topic for this blog, because the number of free lance performers that will get benefits from it is a large one. So celebrate who we are, all of us. And yes, that is hard, especially when people go on TV and lie, distort, demonize to keep power (or gain it.) Just don't listen to 1812 Overture! You fools, it's written by a Russian about a war between Russia and France...as in War and Peace. Why are you using Russian music to celebrate American Independence? Play some Gershwin instead. Or Berlin, or Bernstein, or Sondheim or Porter or Barber or Ives or ANYBODY other than Tchaikovsky. (Play him any other day.)

Back from vacation

2011-06-19T14:13:00.000-07:00

I just 'returned' from a stay-at-home vacation where many loved ones came to us, taking in hours of museums, theater, and music, while they were here. Does everyone know The New York Public Library is celebrating it's 100th year? Go to the main branch (if you haven't already.) The exhibit there of just a tiny, tiny fraction of the holdings of the library will take your breath away...like an early draft of The Declaration of Independence written in Jefferson's hand. Or sketches of a Beethoven work in his wild calligraphic scrawl. And the free book of 100 people choosing their 'favorites' is a treat. Don't forget to show your kids the actual stuffed animals that inspired the Winnie-the-Pooh stories. Greatest of all? The knowledge that anyone in the world can look at anything the library owns for free. Always has been that way, always will be.

Now, to that wild few weeks of gorging on theater and opera--still reeling from it. People being far from perfect, and art being created by people, not everything was without flaw, but all was filled with joys to be had for those willing to accept them. Of the five live events that I wrote of last time, we had one masterpiece of a play with a woefully miscast character, one musical that was two thirds great with fine performances onstage along with the not-so, one divisive work with a towering performance, one masterpiece of operatic literature given an all-but-perfect performance / production...and one of the single most shattering, extraordinary nights in the theater it has ever been my privilege to experience. In order of mention:

Arcadia is the masterpiece of theater writing with the serious casting flaw. Set in the same house in two different time frames, 100 years apart, this is Tom Stoppard at his best, meaning as good as it gets. I have loved reading the work over the years but have never been to a production and feel happy to have seen one filled with great actors. Alas, the young woman playing the precocious young woman in the 'past' was abominable. Sorry to be so cruel to a fellow performer, but damn, she was dreadful. This is a serious disaster for a work about love where the said youngster finds her first blush leads to her demise. In many ways, Thomasina finds the most 'growth' in the play, so the screeching, obnoxious, shallow characterization was a 'tragedy' not in the script. Still, to see and hear this beloved product of Stoppard's brain was still enjoyable. The rest of the cast could not be faulted, including the understudy who went on for one of the other major characters. His name was John Cutmore Scott: he was superb. Pity we did not see the understudy for the young woman.

The two thirds great musical was Billy Elliott. Anything but toned down from the gritty movie, the tale of a spirited youth pursuing the improbable dream of being a ballet dancer in the midst of a miners strike during the Thatcher years is filled with pain, anger, hope, happiness, sadness, humor--and the twin results of loss for the miners as Billy moves on to his success far from his troubled home. If only they had stuck to their guns and given us the grittiness and the fantasy without the assured-audience-approving Broadway excess, even contradictions, for the sake of a good number. And those cloying kids playing 'cute'! Yikes! Thomasina times a dozen. Several times, I wished for a gun, either to kill myself or the brats onstage overacting with hideous grins on their faces . And the 'curtain call' was a complete negation of the story in front of it! The miners 'lose' I wanted to shout! Billy went on to be a major force in ballet, not a grinning tap dancer. Why are all these desperate, forgotten men and women wearing tutus? That is the authors' idea of humor? Yes, seeing this young man tap after so much exertion the previous three hours had its own rewards--up to a point--but more along the lines of 'wow, the kid has unlimited energy' than 'wow, what a great ending'. But the mindless throngs in the seats seemed to eat it up. Not all of them, but most. Give them what they want, I guess. But 'I' did not. Will commend the Billy. He could sing, dance and act very well indeed (no small feet for a pre-teenager) and never fell into the trap of 'Gee, look Ma! I'm dancin' trap. Well, other than the number with his cross-dancing friend and the end. Luckily, the former had dancing dresses (don't ask) to steal your attention away from the kids being cutesy, and the end...finally ended. But not before a giant sign lit up spelling Billy! Give me the gun.

The divisive play with the truly legendary performance was Jerusalem. The jaw-dropping acting came from the unbelievably impressive Mark Rylance. He was 'never forget it' good. The play I could take or leave. Yes, it had plenty of humor (I laughed often if a bit loudly for a few people around me) but a fair share of pretension, assuming the 'meaning' had something to do with the last vestiges of paganism being destroyed by modern technology and inhumanity. (Just once, I'd like to see a play where the 'old ways' are the foolish ones, and the 'modern technological' world is a salvation from mindless adherence to destructive, knee-jerk religious fervor. But I dream...) But half the audience left without even agreeing on a 'meaning'--or if one needed to be present. This is fine. The rather ham-fisted metaphors were not, for me anyway. The minute the Rylance character looked into the eyes of another and she shook from his magical powers, I began to silently groan. Even before then, the 'message' seemed to me a little too telegraphed for comfort. But, hey, many people who enjoyed it didn't think it meant anything more than a character study of one man's dissolution. More power to them.

The operatic masterpiece given the beautifully successful production in Philadelphia is Hans Werner Henze's Phaedra. Modern, allusive, literary (death knells to some), the piece is also filled with lyricism throughout to set the violence, both physical and emotional, in high relief. Truly, despite its lack of tonality (though it has its own strange suggestion of it) the beauties pile up. And what a fantastic--both meanings apply--production. Superb singing throughout its small cast, a few strained notes from the women excepted, in a simple, direct, emotional, highly theatrical staging. It was beautiful, too, just like the music. I was only sad I could not see it more than once. The brochure for next year's program promises a new production of one of my favorite Henze operas, Elegy For Young Lovers. With a libretto by W. H. Auden and Chester Kallman who gave us the words of Stravinsky's The Rake's Progress, it has long been known by smart music lovers as a(nother) masterpiece. I'll be there, even if I have to shoot an overacting child actor to do it.

And that perfect night was, of course, Derek Jacobi in King Lear. Words really cannot give the true impression. Staged simply but soooooooo effectively. Shattering. Has to be repeated: shattering!! Played so memorably by everyone. Original, even with centuries of performances. (Who will ever forget the storm scene?) And Jacobi is unparalleled. I mean it. What a fantastic actor he is! One-of-a-kind. Unforgettable. So arrogant in his foolish pride. So pitiable in his madness. So crushing in the final realization of his own failure. A Lear for the ages. What a masterpiece Lear is! (My second favorite Shakespeare, Hamlet being my ultimate.) In fact, what masterpieces I saw. (Oh, and a pretty good musical and a so-so play made cherishable by its star.)

June

2011-05-22T16:30:00.000-07:00

Next month, I will have the extreme pleasure of fulfilling three decades long, unwavering dreams: see a marvelous play by a beloved playwright, witness a beloved actor take on the challenge of one of history's greatest roles, and experience a live performance of a wonderful opera by a beloved composer. I have never had such a mind-boggling abundance of riches happening in such a short time. Imagine...three things I have desired with a passion bordering on lunacy coming my way, all within a few weeks. Funny what life pushes at you. Dreams do occasionally come true. The greater North East corner of The United States--naturally centered around New York--is home to places teeming with great art. So here is an ode to the living example of 'good things come to those who wait.'
The marvelous play is Arcadia by Tom Stoppard. Like most of his oeuvre (he would appreciate the word), this was seen on Broadway shortly following its successful premiere in London. Alas, I did not live here, so I missed out on the play the first time around. And few regional theaters are willing to risk it. First, the cast is large for all but the bigger groups. The play is long. And it requires many talented, skilled (no, they are not the same thing), experienced actors who are well versed in sophisticated language--and sophisticated humor--filled with technical jargon, philosophy, discussions about art and scholarship, and signs of higher education. Yet they must bring out the feelings and conflicts with which these characters deal, for this is a highly emotional play for all its unfamiliar words. So I found no locals to take on the challenge. I was pacified by reading the text and hearing it only in my mind. But what words! The play is a peak of higher speech, even for Stoppard, certainly one of the most erudite writers of the past century. Yet what humanity is there. True, he assumes you will follow the action, even if you do not understand every word. This requires an audience who is willing to watch and listen carefully, but the ride, if you take it, is a glorious one. The new production has received mixed reviews, but I do not care: just to have it unfold before me is reward enough. In my mind--a Stoppard junkie--this is the greatest play by a man who has produced quite a few of those during his (still busy) lifetime. Count me in.
The beloved performer in the historic masterpiece is Sir Derek Jacobi in King Lear. Ever since I watched Jacobi play Hamlet (title role of my favorite Shakespearean work; King Lear is my second favorite) on a no-frills BBC production, I have been entranced. Movies, television movies, taped plays, even sitcoms--he won an Emmy playing a very untalented Shakespearean actor in a priceless episode of Frasier--have come and gone over the years, but I have only managed to witness him in his medium, the stage, once in my life. The play was Uncle Vanya and he was unforgettable. I can think of no higher praise than to bear witness to the seemingly impossible: even his silences were riveting. But Lear is the other role of a lifetime, and I have waited for most of mine to watch him do it. He has the rare gift of finding new life in old phrases. Even in that cheap, nay cheesy, BBC Hamlet, he makes you feel the pain, the frustration, the anger, and finally the resignation that makes the performance one-of-a-kind. How rich the work proves, how heartbreaking. Get the DVD, check for yourself. The fine cast around him helps, included a surprisingly good Horatio, but he is the key to its success. (As far as taped versions, only Olivier compares, in a vastly truncated text. Richard Burton is not bad. The rest? Forgettable.) And now Lear! One of the regrettable losses coming from my living in Texas for so long is my missed opportunities of seeing him create so many cherishable characters onstage. Video will have to do for most. (If you come across him in Cyrano de Bergerac, buy it. Immediately.) I may cry before it starts.
And the wondrous opera by the beloved composer is Phaedra by Hans Werner Henze. I could not have been more than 20 when I stumbled across a recording of a black comedy called Der Junge Lord, an opera about, among other things, a singing monkey. I thought, 'What an odd, difficult, beautiful, funny piece it was (and is.)' Writing his own very personal variations on every 20th Century 'movement', he will place Neo-classicism next to 12-tone rows (of rather free implementation) next to a highly personal brand of tonality, mixed in his own inimitable way. For the uninitiated, Henze is a God among composers for goodly sum of classical music lovers world wide. (Don't believe me? He had a major success translating one of his operas into Japanese.) America has had many orchestras (New York Phil especially), opera companies (Santa Fe especially), chamber music groups, and soloists (two sets of guitar pieces written for Julian Bream) perform his works...but I have missed most of them. Either I was not where they were, or I was not able to be there when they were where I was. But now--an opera, his pinnacle of forms, even with such skill shown in most of the others. As much as I treasure the recordings of so much of his concert music, nothing quite compares to the operas. Phaedra is a recent one with a strange history. He wrote the second act after awakening from a coma from which no one expected him to emerge. He says it changed him, and the music that came after seems to prove he is right. Myths have always fascinated him, and this work moves from a fairly straightforward setting of the ancient tale to a second act of dreamlike, mercurial ruminations on the possible meanings inherent in it. The music is brooding, angular, discordant one minute and lyrical, flowing, beautiful the next. The melodies (yes, they are there) may sound difficult at times, but they are rewarding for the singers, always enabling them to create such human characters despite his abstraction. I've sung some Henze, so I can attest to this fact. He is a master of pace, variety, emotions--he exploits all his skills in this remarkable piece written in the remarkable Indian summer of life. Though not a lengthy piece, it is a full one. This is a peak in my experience with classical music.
So June will bring in three great evenings. I am nervous with anticipation. Yet I do not fear disappointment. The works are the things, even if in flawed in interpretation and / or execution. May I have many more months like this one.

Life Upon the Wicked Stage...or in the Living Room

2011-05-08T20:05:00.000-07:00

Performers can be schizophrenic: they want to feel good about what they do yet want the audience to appreciate their work as well. Most craved approbation when they were attracted to performing, and it does not always leave. They want their fellow performers to be comfortable, the give and take to be easy and productive. At best, they feel equal partners, each adding their skills to create art they are proud to present. At worst, they can feel like a perpetual host, caring for the feelings of others, becoming leery of confrontation and failing to comfortably negotiate differences of opinion. (Of course, there are some people who only care what they think about themselves, screw anyone who does not agree with their success. I’ve been stuck with some of these. They are usually horrible to work with, especially if you are the kind of person who wants to please and be pleased. They think only of themselves, rarely consider another’s point of view, are myopic and blunt. They do not know the true meaning of ‘collaborate.’ They can be quite good at what they do and become popular with audiences. I still don’t want to work with them. I have rarely experienced great ‘art’ with such people. Most things require more than one person. The only one of universal practice I can think of should be confined to the privacy of your own home.)

Sometimes this Janus face spills over into their offstage lives as well. They want to please, make the others in the group comfortable or laughing, ease tensions, so they begin to ‘perform’; to these people, parties, nights out, performances by others, etc. can be extremely good times…or extremely bad. Not all personalities mesh, so ‘pleasers’ can come across as too vehement, self-centered, ignorant, or just plain bizarre. When a sense of humor is shared, all will usually go swimmingly. When it is not, time can crawl—through emotional cut glass. Or if the two or three conversationalists are not on the same page, the effect will not always equal happy days. And sometimes the person next to them is a non-performing egotist. Some people, no matter what line of work, are just shitheads. Who hasn’t been stuck at a table with them? With time and experience, the performer might minimize the distress this might cause, chock it up to being infallible. Alas, I have never learned to STOP trying to please which leads me to…

I met some new people at an event recently and to prove how interested I was in what was being said, I engaged in banter, asked stories about their lives, told (probably too many) stories about my own, but egregiously misunderstood one of the stories being told to me. What I thought was a ludicrous tall tale told as exaggerated black humor ended up being an almost unbelievably bizarre truth. Naturally my ‘dark’ puns came across as a terribly insensitive view of a poor woman’s horrific plight. I tried to tell humorous, touching stories to ease out of it, but I began to overcompensate because the harm was done. I am sure my point of view was not understood. I felt sick about it. The teller never said an unkind word, but that was not necessary: I said plenty to myself. But really, I meant no harm. Sometimes things just don't work out like you think they will. Why bring it up?

Performances, like new meetings, are tricky things. An audience may be able to follow you to anywhere you take them, enjoy the ride, and everyone comes out happy, mentally and /or emotionally stimulated. Or some of the audience can follow you and love your work, and some not so much. Or a couple of people can enjoy what they are seeing and hearing while the vast majority does not. Or no one likes it. Sometimes this happens because the performers are having an off day. Even the greatest performers on Earth are not always great. Sometimes the wrong audience shows up for the type of art you are giving them, so no, or mis-, communication occurs. And sometimes you just get a roomful of shitheads. An unappreciated performance can be a living hell. Let me emphasize that: living hell! Performers (and party guests) are human, no matter the skill or intention Even if what they are presenting is not to your liking—or they screw up royally—try keeping this is mind. The ‘pleasers’ are already doing that. If you are not one, perhaps you might attempt seeing things from their point of view occasionally. It might be refreshing. Sometimes, great things come from it. Like art. And if you are simply incapable of empathy or just cannot refrain from judging the person next to you, or in front of you, as inferior to yourself—stay home and watch Doctor Who.

Other Side of the Coin

2011-04-25T00:02:00.000-07:00

Just in case you thought I never say anything about what I love, here is a (partial) list of what makes musical life rewarding, thrilling, challenging, irreplaceable (in no particular order):

I love to discover a new piece that surprises me, thrills me, moves me, engages me, tickles me and / or takes me on an enthralling musical trip. I hope I never stop finding new operas, concerti, symphonies, quartets, vocal works, orchestral works, musicals, jazz tunes, pop tunes, and things that fit none of these categories. And I love to share works I love with someone who hasn't heard them yet. So if you're looking for suggestions...

I love to revisit a piece of music I have not heard in years to "rediscover" its pleasures. If I hear it live, all the better. I have so many recordings of so many wonderful compositions, I could do this every day and not repeat for a decade--easily, with some leftover. But I'm including short pieces as well, in various musical forms other than "classical" including jazz, Broadway musicals, movie scores, and even some "pop" (though not any recent because the radio stations mostly play shit...unless it's "Country", which does have some talented people doing talented things, I just don't like it.)

I love to see a wonderful singing actors give performances that stay with you forever. And again, I do not just mean classical performers, but certainly many of those, too. Placido Domingo performing Idomeneo and Die Walkure, Deborah Polaski in Elektra, Renee Fleming singing La Traviata and Eugene Onegin (and others), Natalie Dessay in Ariadne auf Naxos and Lucia di Lammermoor (and others), Thomas Hampson in Das Lied von der Erde and Tannhauser, Victoria Clark in The Light in the Piazza, Christine Ebersole in Grey Gardens, Bernadette Peters in Gypsy and A Little Night Music, Leo Norbert Butz in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (yes, I know it was a light comedy, but he was priceless), etc. etc....really, a full list would be dull, so I'll stop now.

Seeing a stage production that is so right in (most) every detail as to be as close to perfect as you will get: Private Lives with Lindsay Duncan and Alan Rickman, Grey Gardens with Christine Ebersole and Mary Louise Wilson giving the performances of their lives, The Light in the Piazza with Victoria Clark and Kelli O'Hara, South Pacific also with O'Hara and Paulo Szot, Nine with Antonio Banderas (I didn't expect him to be great either but I was wrong) and Chita Rivera but everyone was memorable including Tony winner Jane Krakowski, at at the Met: Elektra, Moses und Aron, Lulu, From the House of the Dead, Eugene Onegin, War and Peace. (I have been unlucky when it comes to the more "standard" rep: some poor performances or bad staging or weak conducting--or all of these, alas. I have yet to see anything that did not have some elements that were at least good and quite often great, still...one of these days.)

A live performance by an instrumentalist that is seared in my memory (here are a few): Jorge Bolet in recital, B.B. King playing Lucille at an impromptu midnight jam session with Bobby "Blue" Bland, Gil Shaham playing the Brahms concerto like a matador slaying a bull, Emmanuel Ax in recital, Mose Allison becoming a musical madman while the audience expecting your "normal" jazz set just smiled blankly in his direction, Christopher Parkening playing exquisite miniatures, Javier Oviedo and Carla McElheny at Weill Hall (a true collaboration), and the greatest single performance of my life: to celebrate his 75th year on Earth, Mstislav Rostropovich playing a new work and Dvorak concerto. (He is one of my favorite musicians who ever recorded and I was finally lucky enough to hear him "live" playing the Dvorak like no one else can. I was not alone in my tears.)

Videos of operas or shows that I was not lucky enough to see live but still "come through" as great events (not always true of performances on video as opposed to "films"): Hamlet with Derek Jacobi and Patrick Stewart, original company of Sunday in the Park With George, Cyrano de Bergerac also with Jacobi, Les Troyens in Paris for Berlioz' Bi-centennial, original company of Into the Woods (though I have a few quibbles about the show) original company of Passion, War and Peace also in Paris, Bernadette Peters in concert in London, Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake with the original cast (I did see it later after he revised it...which only lessened its impact), Peter Pears in Peter Grimes and Billy Budd, then Philip Langridge in the same two operas, Birtwistle's The Minotaur, Henze's Der Junge Lord, Ian McKellen in King Lear, From the House of the Dead--same production that came to the Met, etc. I actually enjoy many videos of stage performances, so I just named some I am particularly fond of.

Brilliant, special, beloved audio recordings: 100's. Really good recordings: 1000's. One (wonderful) choice from "each" type: cast album City of Angels, Ella Fitzgerald Song Books (I know, I cheated: this boxed set has 13 discs. I love all of them.) Simon Rattle conducting Mahler's 2nd Symphony, Rostropovich playing Bach Suites, Henze's The Bassarids, Queen's Greatest Hits, John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman.

Talking with someone who actually knows and loves classical music that is beyond the standard rep. Even better if they know some of my own favorites that are really beyond the standard rep, like Birtwistle, Henze, Norgard, Rihm, Busoni, Schulhoff, Krasa, Cavalli, Chabrier, Lidholm, Rimsky-Korsakov operas, Ades, Creston, Gerhard, Dutilleux, Dvorak operas other than Rusalka, Goldschmidt, most of Britten, Szmanowski, Schreker, Bernstein classical pieces, probably a few I'm just not thinking of at the moment, many others that I quite enjoy but do not love and pieces by the well-played composers that are less well known. (That list would be book length.) These talks have been some of the most delightful hours I have spent. Their rarity makes them all the more treasurable.

And last for now: experiencing music with someone you love. In any form. Nothing as sweet. May I have a lifetime more of these precious moments.

P.S. Yes, I know I included some non-musical things but they were connected in spirit.

Prejudices

2011-04-18T13:32:00.000-07:00

I believe everyone has some sort of prejudice about something, and I am no exception.     My prejudices are almost all musical.     I've mentioned a few before.    Confession is supposed to be good for something so here is a list of things, actions, beliefs, opinions, and behaviors that make me want to scream at people or inform them of the fact that they are small-minded lazy idiots.   In case you've missed them.    In no particular order:

I loathe Wagnerites.    Mind you, I'm not talking about people who love Wagner's music even though they can hear it's excesses and redundancies, notice the flawed libretti, the uncomfortable political overtones, the all-but-impossible demands on singers requiring even the most tolerant listener to accept some really ugly sounds roaring across the the orchestra pit.    You know, smart, knowledgeable music lovers who accept Wagner as one of the greats and add him to their collection of performances, recordings, DVD's, etc.    Notice how I said one of the greats.    One of many.

These are not Wagnerites.     They would be the people who cannot be bothered to listen, view, learn, discuss, ponder anyone other than Wagner.   Who see every performance they can get into of every production of every one of his works and nothing else.   Nothing else.    Who know every cast of every minute of music ever played at Bayreuth.    Who are horrified if they are ever done in translation.     Who believe his music is the pinnacle so why would you ever listen to anything else?     Those people.   They flock to every work of his when it appears at the Met.   You can find them at Walkure if you go.     They will be the jerks pontificating during the intermissions.     Shame it's against the law to just walk up and slap them.     Or scream "pull your heads out of your asses...there is a whole millennium of music being played and it's wonderful, too.     And some of it is not even opera!"

And I loathe people who only know the "war horses" and rarely if ever venture far afield of them.    Who know some Bach, but only the orchestral stuff (and they're not quite sure of the names); all the Mozart that's on the Amadeus soundtrack (their favorite classical cd); Beethoven's popular symphonies, a few piano sonatas, maybe some quartets (but maybe not); Brahms' violin concerto, his 1st Symphony, maybe The German Requiem (or maybe not); Tchaikovsky's violin concerto, sixth symphony, Romeo and Juliet, 1812, (but Eugene Onegin? certainly not;) Dvorak's cello concerto and The New World Symphony; Schubert's unfinished, maybe one or two more symphonies, the Trout (song and quintet); and a whole slew of one-offs by big names like Schumann, Handel, Haydn, and even Saint-Saens (Carnival of the Animals, it's soooo charming.)     They are the reason we have fourteen thousand recordings of Beethoven's Fifth.     They are the people who tell you how wonderful the "classics" are when they find out you are a classical musician but stare at you when you answer their question about what you are working on at the moment.    They rave "don't you just love Lang Lang?"   Or explain why they no longer buy season tickets.      They should be locked in their houses with their 22 cd's of the Brahms' violin concerto whenever any hall is playing anything worth hearing. Not that any classical music would be filling their homes.     They probably don't listen to any anymore.    Too many programs on TV.     "Don't you just love Glee?"

And I want to shoot every person who brings up in conversation how they "hate" new music...but then can't name any of it.   Because they have no idea what's being written.    They still think Schoenberg is new.   They might venture out every decade or so to hear something people have been "raving" about, but they won't like it that much.    No matter what it sounds like.     It could be as popular in style as The Rhapsody in Blue but they won't like it and will add it to the (non-existent) list of reasons why they hate new music.    Well, new music hates you back!

And then we have the "I only listen to..."symphonies, or opera, or chamber music, or solo piano, or vocalists singing favorites, or "crossover", or Bach, or Beethoven, etc.   But unlike Wagnerites, they do not have everything memorized down to the note.    In fact, they stopped listening to classical music "as much as they used to" because their lives got too hectic or their work changed or they got HBO.   And "yeah, we should go to a concert again.     Let us know when you're performing!"    "Sure, I'll leave those seats empty in your honor."

Of course, there's the house favorite: "I know what I like."    (Yes, I'm talking to you.)    No...you like what you know ...as of whatever you knew when you stopped trying to learn anything.    Therefore, anything that sounds like what you know is good.    Anything that does not sound like what you know is not.     Why would you want to bother learning how to appreciate anything different [read: more difficult] when you have all these favorites at your fingertips?    I have yet to met anyone who says this and means Stockhausen and Babbitt or Birtwistle and Carter.    In fact, I'm not sure I've met anyone who has said that cliche who would even know anything about those four.     Probably not even all of their first names.     (An admission: I think Stockhausen and Babbitt are overrated but I have heard and studied their music, quite a bit actually, and formed my opinion afterward.    I'm not saying I don't understand their music.    I think I have a pretty good grasp of it. And I actually do like some of Stockhausen, parts of his operas in particular.   But he had a buttload of really bad ideas and had no shame in sharing them.    I like exactly one piece by Babbitt.    It's short and for guitar.     A guitar can make anything tolerable.)

And then there is the brother of the above: "Oh, I just don't like [fill in the blank.] I've tried to appreciate him, but his music just doesn't speak to me." Right.   Except they can't really describe any of it, or remember when they last heard any of it, or what exactly the aspects are that they don't like.   And it's never Bach or Mozart or Brahms but someone like Berlioz or Schoenberg or Stravinsky.    Because no one would dare admit they don't like Mozart.     Well, I would be more impressed if they said Mozart but loved Schoenberg.     Fat chance.

Or the sister of the above: "I don't like much 20th Century music."    Or more than a couple of hours worth, total, unless you mean Puccini. Schoenberg, Strauss, Prokofiev, Ravel, Berg, Stravinsky, Vaughan Williams, Milhaud, Webern, Janacek, Bartok, Poulenc, Copland, Britten, Shostakovich, Barber, Messiaen, Henze, Carter, Crumb, Birtwistle, Maxwell Davies, Adams, and Ades are all interchangeably uninteresting (assuming they have even heard music by all of these people.)    And this is to ignore the dozens of others they have never heard...and never will.    "Certainly none of these people can compare to Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven." Well, those people can't compare with each other. You can't really compare different musics as far as worth. It's a useless waste of time, and personal taste is the only real arbiter. All of these people have written wonderful music.   Also some of those people you've never heard. The world is richer for having the B minor Mass and the War Requiem just to randomly pick two works.

Of course, I meet the tiny minority of music students (usually composition majors) who only like 20th Century music, especially the most complex...or the most simple.    Hopefully, they will come in contact with Monteverdi or Handel or Berlioz in a sizzling performance and expand their range.   If not, we have the happy knowledge that we won't be listening to too much of their music either, so the history of music wins this cosmic battle.     No one without appreciation of the past makes any kind of lasting impression on the present--my reinterpretation of an old saying.

Or the "I love opera!" people who mean they love opera singers.     And mostly retired and / or dead ones.   They can name every Callas recording.    Have shelves filled with Caruso and Flagstad and Bjorling and Nilsson and Corelli and Sutherland and Caballe plus a few favorites that are not necessarily as well-known so they can claim superiority over the mere casual fan (Magda Olivero is a big one.)    Yet they bash any singer today who has any measure of acclaim unless they are wildly popular yet thoroughly mediocre--then they hear some direct connection to one of the stars above.    Sort of an Emperor's New Clothes...only they, and their truly gifted counterparts, can see and hear why so-and-so is so fabulous.    And the (truly) greatest singers of the present age are not.    Naturally, they know everything by Bellini and Verdi but can't name more than three operas written after Puccini they that are completely familiar with.   But they keep buying their season tickets and priding themselves on their knowledge of the horrible decline in singing.    My response to them is "expletive deleted you, too."

And last (for today) are the snobs who will never admit someone who can write great "popular" music can be any good at "classical".     How Gershwin songs are wonderful, but An American in Paris is for people who don't know real classical music.   Or Bernstein's West Side Story is great, but A Quiet Place (if they even know it) is second rate.     If they don't know that one, they are sure to know one of his symphonies or Mass or Arias and Barcarolles to hold up as inferior.     Or Aaron Copland could only write simple "folk-like" music...everything else is sub-par.    ("What is it with that piano concerto?")   Or Sondheim's Passion or Sweeney Todd do not belong in an opera house, being "mere" musicals.    In fact, they don't understand why all these classically trained singers are wasting their time with them.    Or Weill only wrote those cabaret tunes for Communist musicals, didn't he?    God, who would want to hear an opera by him? And so forth.    I just smile at these imbeciles.    They are missing out on glorious, difficult, memorable pieces that make quite a bit of "classical" music written by "classical" composers sound paltry.    Fine.   More seats for me. And by the way, Weill wrote some wonderful operas.

In praise of English

2011-04-09T22:22:00.000-07:00

The battle for translation versus original language and titles (or program notes) has long been thought to be settled--and translation pretty much lost.    Other than very small opera companies and The English National Opera (or the Chandos Opera in English series of recordings), the pro-native language advocates have all but given up.    Yet I still believe no amount of "help" with a language that you do not understand can ever compare to the direct involvement of one you do, essentially hearing with no "barriers".     The main reason that things are let "as is" has more to do with singers being able to sing anywhere just to pay the bills than any real concern for authenticity.    If you learn Cosi Fan Tutte in Italian, you can sing it anywhere in the world.     And any singer from any part of the world can sing it anywhere.    This makes a certain sense.     But it's no real excuse.    The Met does works in translation all the time: Don Carlos, for instance, a work written to a French text.    There are plenty of performers who have learned both the Italian version and the French version and have gone back and forth successfully.    Really, Verdi hated the Italian translation but realized he would get more performances if the Italian was available.    Yet the Met does it in Italian, even though virtually anyone who knows both can enumerate for you the myriad ways the French text is preferable.    But audiences have gotten used to ignoring words and concentrating their attention on the music (or more truthfully, the melody) because idiots have convinced them that the actual sounds of the various words are much more important than their communicative ability--that somehow Verdi would be denigrated to be heard in English.     Factor in that a house the size of the Met makes it very difficult to understand any language being sung, so why not have it be Russian or German or Czech?    No one can really understand it anyway.     This is all old news.    We, the advocates of understanding, have long since lost the battle.

But I continue to fight it.    So over the years I have used translations for a great many classical pieces and audience response has always been positive.    Surprisingly so.    In fact, to continue to perform lesser-known works of a certain difficulty, I have had to create a few "singing" versions of pieces that have only prose translations or "literal" ones that were not meant to be sung.     This is a difficult, (usually) long, tedious process--I am forced to rely on other people's translations, a person or two who speaks the language in question, and dictionaries--but I have always sung better in English and feel the work has been worth it.    Part of the solution is to find works composed to English texts, which I do often.    That is a whole 'nuther can of worms which I may open later.

So why am I talking about this now?     Because of a piece performed at our last concert, where poems by children of Terezin's ghetto who were killed were set to music by a fine composer, Lori Laitman.   They were in English and the audience was very moved by them.    They could not distance themselves so they had to hear the poems as "intended."    This led me to re-listen to a group of operas written by victims of the Holocaust which were recorded in the latter decade of the 20th Century by London Records.    The series was called Entartete Musik (Degenerate Music) because that was the label the Nazis placed on any style of which they disapproved.     Because the Nazis were an extremely conservative group, they only approved of extremely conservative music, and banned anything that did not fit rigid models from the (usually German) past.    So many of the pieces that were recorded are of "difficult" music.     The period of the early 20th Century until the Second World War was one of experimentation, mixed methods, extended harmonies, conversational melodies, complication and simplicity (sometimes in the same piece), popular music invading "serious" music, etc.    Composers were looking for new ways to hear things--not necessarily to cater to the popular audience.     Yet, listening to some of these--chiefly Erwin Schulhoff's Flammen (Flames), Hans Krasa's Verloben im Traum (Betrothal in a Dream), and Pavel Haas' Sarlatan (Charlatan), all composers murdered by the Nazis by the way--I have come to a sad conclusion: these are all worthy pieces, but their various styles do not make for easy listening (or performance) and the language barrier is the final nail in the coffin.    Why would any group put so much money into a performance of a piece written in Czech by an all but unknown composer who writes in a somewhat difficult style, when they can spend that money on a premiere of a new work by a living composer with a libretto already in English, or a production of, say, Shostakovich's The Nose?    They wouldn't.   Not here, anyway.    If they performed some of these Entartete operas in English, would more people come?      Maybe, but the people who did come would, I believe, appreciate them more and be more willing to try to understand what the composer was after.     My proof?    A children's opera by Hans Krasa, Brundibar, which has been performed all over the English-speaking world in a marvelous translation by Tony Kushner.    Granted, it's only an hour long and the music is much simpler than Krasa's full-length one, but the correlation is fairly apt.    I would love to see any of these works, in any version, but I fear I am a very small minority.    Even the London recordings are out-of-print.    [Side note: another group, Music of Remembrance, has picked up the idea, but their budgets are smaller, and are comprised more of short pieces.   They did, however, record Brundibar, which is delightful.   And a few performers, like Anne-Sofie von Otter, have recorded some of the shorter vocal works.    But how long will they stay in print?     How many performers will learn these pieces?    Good question.    So buy these while you can!]   Yes, they were saved from extinction of one kind only to be all but destroyed by another: too few people want to have to "work" to appreciate music.    At least, not music that isn't "universally" accepted as "essential."   (Lulu, for instance.   Which I worship, so don't get me wrong.)    Not in an English-speaking country, anyway.    So they lie around in manuscript, unheard.    Even Los Angeles Opera, in an honorable bid to keep some of this music "alive", did a work that was so conservative musically, Lehar could have written it: The Birds, by Walter Braunfels.     They hedged their bets.     I believe the whole idea of performing in a language the audience does not understand will forever keep the more difficult of these (and many like) works dead in the water.     It's just one barrier too many.     I fight it on a small scale, but: English translation is dead.     Long live English translation.

Ballet or not ballet? That is the question

2011-03-28T22:48:00.000-07:00

Hmmmm.    I'm letting you in on a guilty secret: I have been known to read gossip for fun.   Now, flinging around the internet (and most gossip columns and even some real news outlets) is the epic battle between the star and the director of Black Swan--that would be Natalie Portman of Oscar fame and Darren Aronovsky) and the star's dancing stand-in (that would be Sarah Lane.)    Lane is claiming she did most of the dancing with no real credit and is upset that people think someone could learn to be a ballerina in a year and a half.    She has been dancing for 22 years.     She went so far as claiming Portman couldn't even dance on pointe (on your toes, if anyone doesn't know.)

According to the always entertaining Ted Casablanca of E! News online's The Awful Truth:

Natalie's dancing partner (and now baby daddy fiancé) Benjamin Millepied took to her defense on the matter, claiming Nat did "85 percent" of the dancing.     Sarah Lane disputes this.

Director Aronofsky would like to take that one [too], as he tells E! News:
"Here is the reality. I had my editor count shots. There are 139 dance shots in the film. 111 are Natalie Portman untouched. 28 are her dance double Sarah Lane. If you do the math that's 80 percent Natalie Portman. What about duration? The shots that feature the double are wide shots and rarely play for longer than one second. There are two complicated longer dance sequences that we used face replacement. Even so, if we were judging by time over 90% would be Natalie Portman. And to be clear Natalie did dance on pointe in pointe shoes. If you look at the final shot of the opening prologue, which lasts 85 seconds, and was danced completely by Natalie, she exits the scene on pointe. That is completely her without any digital magic. I am responding to this to put this to rest and to defend my actor. Natalie sweated long and hard to deliver a great physical and emotional performance. And I don't want anyone to think that's not her they are watching. It is."   If you want to read more, follow the link to Casablanca's blog (I hope he doesn't mind my small borrowing.)

Lane is right, of course, you cannot turn yourself into a "real" ballet dancer in a year and a half. But who actually thinks the dance sequences add up to a whole ballet? Lane? Who is she kidding? With specific training to do a limited number of steps, moves, etc., a dedicated person with smarts and will power could very likely do enough to fool the audience into imagining her as a great ballerina.

But my interests lie elsewhere. First, Lane's defense of the long hard work required to master ballet is admirable and completely true. And who knows, maybe the film and all the discussion will get more people into the theater to watch an actual ballet. I hope so. If it is that simple to create a new audience, the dance world owes the film a debt of gratitude. Ballet is a marvelous art form, and should be seen and enjoyed. I saw Swan Lake for my last birthday, instead of an opera or a Broadway show, which I would normally choose. It was glorious. And the sad truth is, audiences for ballet are shrinking--noticeably. Opera seems healthy in comparison. If the controversy helps in any way, I'm glad for that,

But second, most of the people watching the film have to be thinking, who the hell cares? If I want to believe Portman is a dancer, I will. It's an acting role above and beyond everything else. Personally, I don't care if she didn't do ANY of the steps. It's an ACTING assignment. And Lane cannot deny that Portman DID do some of it. The counting of shots seems pretty conclusive to me. He could easily be proved wrong if he is exaggerating. Just like the dancing in Chicago a few years back, the question was did the actors do their own dancing? Yes, they did. They spent weeks learning them. Most of them are shot in fragmentary form, so careful editing could eliminate false steps, mistakes, etc. And the dancing did not make up a majority of the film. The same holds true for Black Swan. Are they any better or worse if the dancing is shared? Or not?

NOOOOOOOO! Stop being stupid. It's a movie! It's not a filmed performance! Lane, get over yourself! You have made the wrong point. You SHOULD have said that true ballet is a decades long pursuit and hopefully, the popularity of this film will allow more dancers to be seen live. Go get back on the stage and prove your worth there. Movies are not "real." They are put together of parts. Shot out of order. Created by computers. Edited to make actors look better. Have a music score to manipulate your emotions. Only idiots think movie are just an actor's medium, and they will not be buying a ticket to anything even near a staged ballet, now, or in the future. We all applaud the defense of unheralded performers. But art forms are not equal. Live performances will always be more difficult to pull off with great skill. Of course they are! Natalie Portman did not claim to dance everything all at once in one take. THAT is the only "reality" that needs to be pointed out. Only the same idiots who think movies are real, think acting in them is as hard as acting in a play, musical, ballet, or opera. The same goes for dancing in them or singing in them. The idea is preposterous to anyone who loves both film and live shows. I defend great movie acting. Some things can only work on film. (Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice, for instance. Hell, Natalie Portman in Black Swan.) But Derek Jacobi or Ian McKellen in a live King Lear will always trump ANYONE'S on film. Stop puny arguments that hurt The Arts. Hate-mongers in government are already doing that.

Bad for the Arts?

2011-03-20T14:54:00.000-07:00

Well, Spiderman the National joke is now in its umpteenth very public revision, but with a huge catch this time: the director / co-writer is (all but) out, while the musical team finally gets off its collective ass to work on the damn thing as new writer(s) and a new director have been rushed in to save the day (and this irony is not lost on too many people.) Will it help? Who knows? History would suggest "No." For my purposes, it won't matter. I doubt I would be interested in seeing it anyway, certainly not at those prices. My interest lies in the humiliated director, Julie Taymor. If mid-America did not know she was the creative genius behind The Lion King, her infamy is now front page news (or at least, of the Arts section.) Yes, she refused to admit vast problems were not being solved. Yes, she had some poor ideas no one could (or would?) talk her out of. No, even in a fantasy world, a chorus of spiders can NEVER be made to work. She seemed destined to go down in flames--and destiny finally caught up with her. She is now considered a foolish egomaniac that destroyed the great work that could have been Spiderman. Never mind, she was not working in a vacuum. Others were designing sets (with her input), costumes (ditto), flying stunts, etc. Not to mention, writing the score. Was she really such a control freak that she FORCED them all to bow to her foolish whims? I have begun to doubt it. The world needed an excuse why Bono could not be the next Elton John. They needed a quick and handy scapegoat. They found a large one, one they would have us believe was trapped in a web completely of her own devising. Well, she was the director but the buck did not stop with her: it stopped with the producers. They were not pushing for new songs, better scripts, more coherent plot lines. Unless they were doing it without ANYONE saying anything about it. With this much scrutiny? Get real. They gave the woman more than enough rope to hang herself (and half the cast while she was at it.) And sat on their hands while Bono and The Edge went on tour and ignored what was happening in New York. And no one likes their score any more than they like the script. So why are they not "fired'? Have they not failed as well? Yes, they have. But someone with some name recognition had to stay around or the show would close, losing $65, 000, 000. So a ready made villain was found and banished.

So where does this leave us? With someone with imagination, vision, courage, intelligence, and faith thrown to the wolves and disgraced. And the theater world will be a poorer place for it. I have no doubt she created her own downfall, but the spite and hate and arrogance of the "critics" was hardly unbiased. Would this have happened if a man had done the same, as some have claimed? Who knows that either? The chances are, the show would never have gotten as far as it has with someone else attached. And she made a HUGE mistake. And now the thud that is the biggest musical disaster in history will echo down her career even past her death. Frankly, had none of this "drama" happened, the show would have closed months ago. In an ironic twist, the show is mostly full every night with audience members wanting to experience "one of the worst (musicals ever)" as Ben Brantley so pithily opined. This press had allowed time to make changes. So change it! Maybe the new people can take the basic ideas and salvage them. But let's not be too quick to chop off Taymor's head. Her creativity is good for theater, good for opera, good for the Arts, period. But who will ever trust her again? In the world of live performance, nothing is written in stone. But I predict her time of influence is over. And THAT, more than any one show, no matter how big a failure, is the real disgrace. We do not have enough imaginative people working on Broadway or in opera houses these days. And now we have one fewer.

Loss

2011-03-02T11:49:00.000-08:00

The part of the Oscars that recognizes those in the movie business that have died within the last year has me thinking of one of the people I have loved since I was young: Lena Horne. I watched her in any film I could find, even as a child, because I found her beauty, style, and voice enchanting. She could make you laugh, she could make you cry, she could make you love-sick, but she was rarely given a chance to display her talents in the ways they should have been. She was a victim of the racist views of her time--a story many people know. This is a tragedy, but I am still grateful for the indelible images she did leave behind. I will never forget her singing Stormy Weather, a favorite song by a favorite singer. Nor will the power of her one-woman show leave me (until everything has and I am at a loss for my own name.) If you see on TCM that one of her films is being shown, do yourself a favor and watch it. Even if her part is but a song, she makes it memorable. Miss Horne, I will miss knowing you are in the world but I am happy you still live in some way, if just in image and sound.

Change of heart?

2011-02-13T21:05:00.000-08:00

First: The F.R.E.D. Chamber Players is on Twitter. Sign up to follow us!

A popular theater critic in New York (who I won’t name because he names himself enough for three people) recently bragged that he never changed any reviews (and by suggestion, any opinions) and that he has a sort of “bad list”: anyone on it never gets off. His fury is currently aimed at Julie Taymor and Spiderman: the Disastrical. She and the show are easy--and obvious--targets, but that has never stopped him. I only mention this in the context of a review I put on another site (also in no need of my help) where I realized I had written a poor review in a few paragraphs which did not quite give an accurate picture of my thoughts. So I changed it. The only reviewer I can remember changing his opinion, and then publishing it, was Andrew Porter. He is one of my idols. For decades he wrote for The New Yorker and went out of his way to learn something about a piece of music before he made judgments about it. Of course, that is not always possible, but it was more often than you would think. And he was not afraid to say negative things about famous performers who (he felt) were not giving the highest levels of musicianship. However, he did champion young singers and instrumentalists long before others. You can read many of his scholarly reviews--last century’s blogs--in book form. If you are very serious about classical music of all kinds, he is worth a read. If nothing else, you might learn about some composers you’ve never heard of. I did. And the review I changed? It was about John Adams’ Doctor Atomic. Now, mind you, I didn’t really change how I felt as much as reconsider what my feelings meant. But if or when I do change my mind about anything I’ve written here, expect me to say so. But not about Julie Taymor whose work I find can be fascinating...or horrible. (And why mention her any more than I already have? Her ego’s big enough as well.) Well...Ben Brantley does occasionally change his tune, but he always blames someone or something else for the first impressions (Just wrong the first time? Never!) So he doesn't count.

Back from the (almost) dead

2011-01-20T21:55:00.000-08:00

F.R.E.D went through some tough times.    Of course, the entire country went through (is going through?) tough times, so this is not news.     But we weathered the storm and we're still here.    (I'm Still Here was already taken.)

So...first highly opinionated post of the year.   2010 saw the loss of many great classical artists and all were duly eulogized (some more than others.)    Which brings me to:
Joan Sutherland died.    Perhaps the greatest technique of any singer in her lifetime (I'd go back father, but then we'd have to explain and get sidetracked.) Very few people would disagree.    (And they would be idiots, if they did.) Her recordings are marvels of control, color, phrasing, security, and dependability. What they rarely had were multifaceted characters, true excitement, insight, or genuine surprise.    You know what you get and you love it or you don't.    Good for her.

Charles Mackerras also died.    One of the greatest conductors of his lifetime.     He tried many different ideas, championed great composers, championed great singers, believed in studying original manuscripts to garner ideas, played the Classical composers with smaller numbers, fleeter tempos, appoggiaturas in the historically correct places with Mozart as well as Donizetti and the other Italian Romantics, fostered music sung in native language of the people when possible, built up performing groups like The Welsh National Opera, etc, etc, etc.   Classical music is different because he lived.     If for no other reason than because of him, Janacek has been added to the repertoire of most opera houses--right where he belongs--and seems to be popular, even loved (what's not to love?)

My gripe?    Sutherland had pages and pages of meaningless drivel in her obituary in The New York Times.     Mackerras had one page.    Read it again.    The New York Times, the internationally known paper for one of the great centers for classical music, gave Charles Mackerras one page.    One.    Granted he was British, yet he performed often in America and recorded many American singers--including Beverly Sills.     If fact, he conducted thousands of performances around the world.    Sutherland is also NOT from America.     And she sang thousands of performances around the world.    He changed music as we hear it, even WHAT we hear.   She made recordings.     I'm just saying.
Alas, conductors will never be as popular (Bernstein and Toscanini the exceptions, perhaps) as singers.   This is the TRUE story of classical music.    The vast majority of listeners have no idea how important a conductor is.     They only know singers.     Or violinists (for a short time, anyway.)    Or pianists (also mostly fleeting love affairs.)      Often by how young they are and what they wear.    Lang Lang?     An over-emotive (at least, in physical action), musical mediocrity if ever there was one, but he has (the same) following so he gets gigs.    But for how long?

Do I think singers should not be revered? Of course not!    I am a singer myself, and I treasure the performances I have seen at the Met (and other places) by singing actors of every stripe, in every dramatic musical form.    Yes, even Broadway singers can be riveting and well-trained.     With a slightly different projection style, Christine Ebersole could sing opera.    A Light In The Piazza, with Victoria Clark and Kelli O'Hara practically WAS opera.   Audra McDonald sang "Summertime" and "My Man's Gone Now" better than most of the people I have heard sing them.   And Bernadette Peters, (nothing even remotely like an opera singer) in A Little Night Music was one of the unmissable performances of my lifetime for anyone who loves good singing actors.    If you didn't go, why didn't you?     Will many people argue the merits of, say, country music over jazz or Broadway or opera?   Yes.     Will (fewer, alas!) people argue the merits of, say, Renee Fleming over Deborah Voigt?   Yes.     Will they argue the merits of Charles Mackerras over Kurt Masur?   Very few.    By the way: jazz and opera and Broadway over country, but some country singers can actually sing very well.    Renee Fleming...anyone who chooses Voigt?     Who are you kidding?    And, as expected, because I set it up this way, the late lamented Charles Mackerras, a kind man I met for five minutes in person and many hours on record and in the house.     The King is dead.   Long live the King.    Sutherland probably won't need my help.

Oddities

2010-07-09T20:27:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-03T09:48:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-06T09:13:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-26T20:38:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-05-18T21:40:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-10T19:02:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-29T20:29:00.001-07:00

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

2010-04-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-04T21:10:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-17T22:20:00.000-07:00

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

2010-01-16T08:54:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-13T19:42:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-11T20:39:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-10T20:06:00.000-08:00

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.

Great opera experience at THE MET

2009-12-03T20:29:00.000-08:00

Only one more performance of the remarkable production of FROM THE HOUSE OF THE DEAD and that is Saturday's matinee (December 5th.) If you can get a ticket, grab it. Just reading a synopsis of Janacek's final opera and you'd think it would be the farthest thing from a successful work. The opera has no plot, no lovers, no star roles, no women except for a nameless few who take up a few minutes of stage time, no arias, no conventional forms at all. HOUSE is merely a sequence of scenes of a prison camp and it's brutality, and the resultant inmate desperation--marked by many passages where no singing occurs and long monologues of several men and their sad former lives. Events do not lead to each other, they just occur. And for ninety minutes, Janacek holds you spellbound through his marvelous, rich score, here abetted by Patrice Chereau's (once the opera world's most notorious enfant terrible, now a respected interpreter) illuminating production. Everyone, including the extras who do not sing, finds a personal truth to his character so the large cast does not collapse under its own weight. Movement, stance, vocal inflection, use of the language, phrasing, color--every weapon in a singer's arsenal is brought out and the audience gets a great shot of emotion and humanity. The entire cast is memorable, but a few singers still manage to stand out: a wonderfully varied Kurt Streit as the half-mad Shuratov, who repeats parts of his pathetic story over and over; Stefan Margita as Luka, a raging terminally ill loner who hides a deep secret; Peter Hoare as Shapkin and (especially) Peter Mattei as Shishkov--each given a memorable monologue, the latter's following closely on the heels of the former's and building to a shattering climax. Only a genius could make such a musical sequence work as brilliantly as it does. And this production does the whole work more than justice. The few "diversions" from the printed libretto only enhance what Janacek has accomplished, never arbitrary or unmotivated. Even the end of the opera gains by a fresh apporach as the final outpouring of hope has been changed in this production from one of "physical" freedom to one of freedom of the mind. The original version that Janacek wrote has an eagle who was wounded finally fly free just as one of the prisoners is released. The inmates celebrate both the man's and the bird's freedom before they are forced to march off to work. In Chereau's take on it, the bird is made of wood and the men want to be set free so badly they "imagine" they see the eagle escape into the air, as a very old prisoner (a heart-breaking Heinz Zednik) hides it under his shabby clothes. The orders to march are all the more wrenching. The MET orchestra (rather sparse, just as Janacek wrote it) was magnificent, almost every instrument playing a memorable solo, including a fiendish one for violin near the beginning. The conducting of Esa-Pekka Salonen was all anyone could possibly wish. (In fact, one of the pleasurable jolts of this production comes at the VERY beginning, when Salonen takes his seat without fanfare, the lights go out immediately before anyone knows he's even there and the music starts. A brilliant stroke.) A sign of the spell this production casts: the opera stopped and the house was silent. The clapping started low and began to build until the lights and the curtain rose on the cast. The cheers only grew louder as each group took its bow. When the principals at last came forward, the sound was almost deafening. They bowed several times to even louder cheering (!) It did not recede when Salonen finally made his appearance.

If you do not get a chance to see it at The MET, a very good DVD exists of this production (with other singers) from it's previous performances at the Festival Aix-en-Provence in 2007. It is wonderful to have, but not quite a substitute for seeing it live. May The MET bring it back so I can experience it again.

Thanksgiving list

2009-11-25T21:37:00.000-08:00

25 NOT YOUR USUAL ARTS-ORIENTED THINGS I’M THANKFUL FOR

25. Lesser-known works by: Samuel Barber, Bela Bartok, Ferruccio Busoni (which is everything), Aaron Copland, Sergei Prokofiev, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Richard Strauss

24. Broadway. (Plays, naturally, since I write them, but even a good musical. At their best, still one of the great American creations. At their worst...)

23. 20th Century choreography of great ballets, old and new. (Sorry, the 19th Century choreographers were a little too formulaic. Actually, the 19th Century a lot of things were too formulaic. Am I the only person that doesn’t love Rossini?)

22. Old movies. (Meaning anything made before I was born. A partial list of directors whose works I would gladly watch over and over: Alfred Hitchcock, Preston Sturges, Billy Wilder, John Ford, Akira Kurasawa, Jean Renoir, Ernst Lubitsch, Ingmar Bergman, Michael Powell-Emeric Pressburger, Charlie Chapman. A partial list of directors whose works I find painful to watch over and over: Cecil B. DeMille, Fritz Lang--yes, I know he was influential, but that doesn’t make them any better, Frank Capra...every one of his films has a completely ludicrous villian and an exasperating “oh, come on!” moment.)

21. Old movie scores. (A partial list of favorite “movie” composers: Bernard Hermann, Elmer Bernstein, Alex North, Max Steiner, Alfred Newman, Erich Wolfgang Korngold. Least favorite? Dmitri Tiomkin. So he wrote a few pop tunes that are good. Big deal. Mostly his scores don’t even support the story well: happy music for “sad” situations, cuts that go on too long, starts at the most inopportune moments, slivers of music that are far too short. He is the Frank Capra of movie composers: grossly overrated.)

20. The recorded legacy of Mstislav Rostropovich. (He knew everyone who was anyone in music during the 20th Century. And so many great composers wrote masterpieces for his immense talent. I only heard him “live” once...at Carnegie Hall, a magical place anyway. I will never forget it.)

19. J. S. Bach’s slow movements (in every “form” he wrote in. I love them all. See? I threw in someone even morons have heard of, so no complaining.)

18. The delightfully one-of-a-kind dances of Merce Cunningham. (He will be missed.)

17. The Metropolitan Opera (Far less conservative than it used to be, and still a home for great singers--if a few too many not-so-great ones--and great operas you won’t see anywhere else around here, like War and Peace, Kat’a Kabanova, Lulu, Moses und Aron, Les Troyens, Rusalka, etc.)

16. The works of British composer--just in case you haven’t heard of him--Harrison Birtwistle that scare the masses (meaning three quarters of them. But, contrary to popular belief, some of his pieces are taken in stride by most of the British.)

15. The wonderful writings and public advocacy of Tony Kushner. (And another new play is coming to New York! Not to mention the revival of Angels in America.

14. The operas of German composer Hans Werner Henze. (Okay, any form he writes in.)

15. Really cleverly written animated movies, old and new. (Go, Pixar!)

14. Great recordings of musical works I will probably never hear “live”. (Like works by Per Norgard, or Frank Martin or Roberto Gerhard or Thomas Ades--though I have heard one of his pieces “live”.)

13. Living in a city that has some of the greatest art in the world. (I live in New York of course.)

12. Popular music from circa 1920 to circa 1955. (From some of the greats like Gershwin, Arlen, Ellington, Berlin, etc. and recorded by Horne, Sinatra, Garland, Fitzgerald [!] Armstrong, etc.)

11. Every note Alban Berg wrote.

10. (Almost) every note Benjamin Britten wrote--he wrote a some music when he was young that isn't so hot. (He could write wonderfully for any instrument or group of instruments or voice or voices in any-and-all combinations thereof, in any “classical” form, large or small...but especially opera. He was the 20th Century Mozart, though he lived to be much older.)

9. Stephen Sondheim’s entire oeuvre. (He would probably hate that word. I REALLY want to meet him. I may become a stalker.)

8. Berlioz--everything by him and about him. (Read his autobiography and then the two-part biography by David Cairns. Great stuff!)

9. Poetry. (From ancient Greek plays to the latest issue of THE NEW YORKER. Most of the major poets, especially Dante and Shakespeare [see, I named someone else that any moron has heard of] Walt Whitman and Dylan Thomas and e e cummings and T. S. Eliot, though you need footnotes for some of his. And too many not-so-major ones who are nonetheless worthy. Try James Merrill for a great poet who has been somewhat forgotten but is one-of-a-kind.)

8. Songs, cantatas, operas, oratorios by: Dominick Argento, Hector Berlioz (yes, I know I already mentioned him) Emmanuel Chabrier, Anton Dvorak, Georges Enesco, Carlisle Floyd, Berthold Goldschmidt, Hans Werner Henze (yes, I already mentioned him, too, but I like him so much, he’s worth repeating), Jacques Ibert, Leos Janacek, Reinhard Keiser, Gyorgy Ligeti, Frank Martin (another repeat), Per Norgard (ditto), Jacques Offenbach, Sergei Prokofiev (okay, I’m repeating myself a bunch, but this is vocal music especially), Roger Quilter, Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov, Franz Schreker, Michael Tippett, Viktor Ullmann, Ralph (not pronounced “Raife” like some people think) Vaughan Williams, Kurt Weill, No X (sorry, I hate Xenakis), and Alexander Zemlinsky. This doesn’t mean I don’t love all the more famous composers, but everyone would say them.

3. Meeting so many composers, musicians, dancers, actors, artists, etc. in New York since I’ve been here. The arts surround you here, if you just stop to notice.

2. Performing music so new, no one has ever heard it before. (Thank you, my friends, for writing for me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have the honor.)

1. Making music with the man I love. Happy Thanksgiving, my genius musician, wonderful friend, best ambassador for the classical saxophone in the world, lover, beautiful husband. May we make music until we’re too old to hear it anywhere but in our dreams.

And if you're wondering who any of these people are or why I like them, just ask. I could write books. Maybe I should.

One Man's Wobble

2009-11-01T21:21:00.000-08:00

Since I began to study singing as a student, I've heard, read, listened, pondered, argued, and quietly spoken about what makes up great singing. And I have been forever puzzled and bemused (and occasionally horrified) by the myriad opinions on what "great singing" means. From a technique stand point, most students and teachers worth their salt will say they strive for singing from lowest note to highest note that is all of a piece--no discernible breaks, no "weaknesses" in one register or another, fluidity between all of them. Singing should be free of strain, free of a wobbly, uncontrolled vibrato, free of pitch problems, free of a breathy, unsubstantial "core" sound. Dynamics should be possible high or low, leaps should be reached easily, words should be heard and understood (except, perhaps, at the highest notes), "coloring" the voice to express emotions should be one of the ultimate goals.

So why do so many "famous" singers, or, hell, even EMERGING singers lack so many of these technical accomplishments? And why do so many people "worship" these singers and "despise" singers who DO have great technique and great expression? Why do so many opera "fans" have a litany of "great" singers from the past that they use to "prove" singers of today are so inferior? When did "loud" become synonymous with "emotional"? Why can so many "experts" lack the skills to hear poor pitch, differentiate between "coloring" the voice rather than having problems with certain registers which force a different sound, understand "technique"?

I have no idea. But the MET roster is filled with singers with what are (to me obvious) vocal deficiencies. The MET seems unable or unwilling to find performers for the more taxing roles that are not ridden with vocal "faults" (Domingo being the exception that proves the rule.) Of the roster of returning singers performing the heavier works, only Violetta Urmana can be said to be vocal proficient for the works she sings--but even she can strain at climaxes. NO ONE ELSE SINGING THE HEAVIER REP AT THE MET HAS ANY BUSINESS DOING IT. Yes, I just said it and I mean it. And, yes, I know that many popular singers are singing these roles anyway. That doesn't mean they should be. Not if the definition of "great" singing is in those attributes students and teachers strive to instill. But this does not just extend to the most extremely difficult works. I find it hard to believe that some singers who have careers in Europe like, say, Anne Schwanewilms, who sing medium weight roles, have no place at The MET just because they do not command a high enough public profile. (Or of a previous generation, Inga Nielsen, or Hillevi Martinpelto.) Where is baritone Roderick Williams? Why is a singer with such a beautiful, well-trained , expressive voice not being heard regularly here? He's singing constantly in Europe. Or why was Robert Brubaker only used in "one-off" roles occasionally when he was in his prime? He could easily handle medium weight tenor roles and did so (and probably still is doing so) in other parts of the world. Or why was Bruce Ford not a household name in Rossini and Donizetti? He is as good a singer of these roles as we have had on records. But he is now singing a small tenor role in Armida. Hardly a way to treat such an artist, even if he is in the latter part of his career. All of these singers have left audio and / or video proof of their worth. All these recordings were readily available (and some still are.) So they are (or were) hardly unknown. But they were infrequent (and certainly unheralded) performers here, if at all.

And who is filling these roles instead? A well-recorded (but why?) and well-received soprano of wobbly, strained, forced but certainly loud singing who is being acclaimed as the last in a long line of "great" Strauss / Wagner singers. A once well-recorded tenor whose once-lovely lyrical voice is now thread-bare and shrill through singing roles he has no business singing. Not one but TWO "new" very lyric sopranos whose hype (and lavish applause and recording contracts) have put them into a limelight they cannot bear up under. (Ten years or less and they will be gone.) An American singing "actress" of more emotive skills than singing ones who sings all the mid-weight Italian--esp. Puccini--works (but shouldn't be.) And her American "cousin" who made her name in rarer Verdi and has now moved into even heavier Verdi roles where her lack of beautiful tone, limited facility and little to no beauty in her top fifth or so, and obvious "breaks" between registers will now become even more apparent. (At least that she is not showcased the way she once was...at least not at the MET.) An Italian tenor whose "skill" is singing loudly and with a noticeable legato. Subtlety and characterization and individuality are completely missing. And this is but a short list. (I did not name names because that would be impolite and unbecoming a fellow singer. But if you are aware of who is singing at the MET...and around America...you can probably guess who I am writing about.)

My big question is "WHY?" If no one can sing Turandot...don't do Turandot. If you can't cast The Ring Cycle with appropriate singers, don't mount it. Is ticket selling all, artistry beside the point? It's such a cynical way to think, but I fall into cynicism. Of course, Fleming, Dessay, Hampson, Flores, Graham, Blythe, Di Donato, Gheorghiu, the ever-young Domingo, even such elder statesmen as (Thomas) Allen, Opie, Langridge, and Tomlinson, (just to name male British singers) can still be heard. And they are the reasons I go.

Technology, technology, everywhere

2009-10-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

Every few decades the world of technology infects all the arts and it eventually arrives at set design for stage productions of all kinds. Not that technology and projections have been absent from stagecraft. Dance has been using projections forever. Twenty something years ago, I saw a performance of wonderful pieces by Merce Cunningham (and how sad I was when he died) and the only sets for all of them were projections on a cyclorama that seemed to have no bearing on what the dancers were doing. This was a tenet of his work--all "aspects" of performance were independent of each other. But they were often beautiful--projections and dances--and I was always engrossed. And, of course, Peter Sellars has made his name as a "genius" (he did get a grant) for his mixing of media. (Just how many works DID he stage with piled up televisions?) Certainly at least two works by Steve Reich have been accompanied by a wall of screens (which helps, if you ask me.) And the projections during the Paris production of Les Troyens in 2003 were wonderful in an effectively "sparse" staging. But starting in Beijing during the opening and closing ceremonies of the Olympics, technology changed and everyone seemed to have had the same ideas about how to use it. I think we are at the beginning of a Golden Age of creative design and I hope it lasts and expands and enriches. London's (and then Broadway's) production of Sondheim / Lapine's Sunday In The Park With George was one of the most creative use of projections I have ever seen. The audience gasped when everything went white and then pencil strokes slashed across the stage, as if we were seeing George's paper as he was sketching. And the MET has created another projection extravaganza in La Damnation de Faust and there were plenty of ideas to make one gasp. The moment when Faust falls into the water and slowly spins around is an unforgettable moment in an opera-ish work (Berlioz called it a "Dramatic Legend") that has previously been mostly unsuccessful when put on a stage in any way but a concert version. The MET version seems to have solved its "problems" and added a dazzling production that has a good shot at becoming a (semi) staple of the rep, like Lulu or the Janacek operas. I'm sure we are in for more. Some people have worried that this is just more distraction from the "singer" and the art of "singing". Maybe it will effect how we see and hear. No way of knowing this soon. But surely this Faust is just a new form of the older generation's massive moving parts, such as the MET's Aida and it's spectacle of giantism. When it was first introduced, critics complained the sets dwarfed the singers. Now audiences and critics have gotten to know it and appreciate it. May the "new" technology get the same chance to shine.

Operatic duds

2009-10-11T18:42:00.000-07:00

I come not to praise Wagner but to bury him. A few weeks before the start of The MET season, an "illustrious" critic for an "illustrious" publication wrote that a new opera he had just seen and heard needed to have cuts to be more effective but he wanted to assure his readers that some operas, even some long ones, are perfect at their actual length. He sighted Wagner's Parsifal as a perfect opera that needs all five hours to make its point(s). He actually said six hours, but he seems to be counting the famously long intermissions at The MET as opera time. He went on to say perhaps the most cliché "accepted truth" in all opera: that works like Der Rosenkavalier (a perenial choice for this "truth") need their (usual) cuts to keep from being "boring"--intimating their composers (for some reason, invariably it's Strauss) are lesser beings than opera "gods" like Mozart or Wagner. Anyway, he made me think (more than he has poor taste) that many "accepted truths" hide actuality. (At least as I hear it.) I don't care how many people claim Wagner as a genius that must be heard in full--he wrote more than one "dud". And Parsifal is the dudest of the duds. A 20 minutes or so here and there in each act of "good" music that is meant to be profound does not a masterpiece make. In fact, I don't trust anyone who thinks Parsifal is a "perfect" five hours. At five hours, it's perfectly dreadful. As is Siegfried. Maybe an hour and a half of truly great music is hidden in an atrocious five hour monstrosity. And, yes, the other operas of The Ring Cycle are much better and the events depicted in Siegfried need to be told. So get someone to play a highlights disc while a narrator explains everything you need to know. There. Three and a half hours saved. I could go on. In fact, other than a few operas by Wagner (and I love much of his music so don't think "I just don't understand him") most of his works would be more effective with cuts. Even Gotterdammerung, my vote for his greatest "masterpiece", could do without a few minutes here and there that seem superfluous. (The Norns really add little and their music is merely "good." Cut 'em, I say.)

So, any other suggestions for "repertory" works you think are duds? (Or at least, not worth the time to get to the end.) A rule first: they have to be works heard around the world and recorded at least once. And please, no "atonal" works. We know, you just don't understand what everyone hears. Got it.

Why the same "old" operas?

2009-10-08T18:38:00.000-07:00

Now that The MET has officially opened, the opera critics come out in force and the love it / hate it / don't understand it wars begin with a vengeance. The new Tosca was a case in point. No two people seemed to agree about anything. This is not exactly bad for the MET. Critic wars make news. And Peter Gelb certainly gets his opera company in the news. I think this is healthy for the venerable company and good production (Madama Butterfly) bad production (Sonnambula), people are coming and noticing. The war of words between Zeffirelli and Bondy certainly didn't hurt. (The comment that Zeffirelli was just merely "...Visconti's assistant" was one of the more cutting put-downs of recent years.) Of course, all this talk about productions and (even) singers doesn't really disguise the fact that the rep is still pretty set in stone. And we know this and occasionally complain about this but to no avail. The Lulu's and the From the House of the Dead's are few and far between (as are performances of them.) Even a piece like Hamlet will swoop in for a few seasons and certain singers will triumph in the two main roles and then it will fly right out of vogue just as quickly. And I doubt seriously that even the great artist Renée Fleming can make Armida a popular recurring addition to the roster. None of this is new. The reasons are myriad but one of my strong beliefs is people have to be "taught" what is good or bad, and no one is "teaching" Armida. I learned from others (fans, singers, teachers, etc.) the works that were considered "great" and I set about to understand why. "Learning" Le Nozze di Figaro is relatively simple. We've heard this harmony and these kinds of melodies everywhere, whether we know it or not. The more "debated" or shall we say, less performed and recorded works I had to discover for myself. And I worked at it and studied them and tried to learn the "language" that each composer was using. And I discovered quite a few "masterpieces." But I sometimes fear I am in a strong but wavering minority. Your majority opera listeners don't have the time or inclination--they want ready made "masterpieces" or at at the very minimum, lesser works by confirmed "geniuses" (mostly from the 19th Century unless it's Handel.) And often they take "genius" on faith and accept the faulty syllogism that if A) a composer is a genius and B) he wrote a piece in his adulthood at the "height" of his powers then C) the piece must be a "great" piece. So they listen and they listen until they "know" it by the time they hit their seats. And they accept as fact that the mutually agreed upon "masterpiece" is one. Which leads me to my next blog...but first, what do you think? Any answers to the age-old question? Any solutions?