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.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Two (or more) of a Kind pt. 3
God, opera composers have been obsessed with Orpheus. There is that making the most beautiful music in the world thing, and the greatest love in the world thing, and the going to hell thing, but really...well, everyone probably knows the Monteverdi and the Gluck (Orfeo and Orfeo ed Euridice respectively for the two opera lovers who don't know by now) but what about the wonderfully whacky Orphee aux Enfers by Jacques Offenbach, and the weirdly what-the-fuck? The Mask of Orpheus by Harrison Birtwistle? Many may know the Offenbach (if not, listen to the newest recording with Natalie Dessay) where everyone and everything gets mocked in memorable fashion. And it's even better if you know the references it's ribbing. What other version celebrates Euridice STAYING in hell? If you listen without reading about it and just follow the libretto, you'll get several musical surprises of the "That's where that came from?" variety. But do feel sorry for the poor tenor. You'll know exactly what I mean when you hear it. The music of Offenbach is almost always delightful (really) and even undervalued. And it makes a fine comparison with Auber. (Opera comique is one of its targets.) Gilbert and Sullivan is second best in my book.
Then there's Birtwistle. He is still causing fights. I mean it. Yelling and screaming and walk-outs and standing ovations and write-ups pro and con in the world's opera magazines and newspapers. Like him or hate him, no one sounds like him. He's like Stravinsky with the premiere of The Rite of Spring, but with everything he writes. It is probably no accident that Stravinsky is one of his influences. And nothing has caused more hand-wringing and head scratching and hurumphs and hurrahs and hallelujahs than The Mask of Orpheus. It is somewhat indescribable. The tale of Orpheus and Euridice and Aristeus (who causes her to die) is told several times from various points of view with each character represented by an onstage singer, an offstage singer, and a giant puppet...yes, puppets. Musically, the same music is also repeated in (somewhat clear) panels and supports the action to a degree, so with a little concentration, you can just about follow the permutations of action and music. Then Act Two happens. And then Act Three. So even the most adventurous listener can be lost. But maybe that's part of its appeal. You can wallow in one-of-a-kind sounds (including computer-generated ones) and experience the whole thing as a wild pageant of very modern construction. I repeat for emphasis, no one sounds like Birtwistle. He takes ideas from Medieval and Renaissance music--like separate lines that move in and out of the foreground--and adds wild rhythms and growling screeches and lyrical suspended ideas and leaping melodies and stirs it over a high flame so it bubbles. He inverts the overtone series so that the smaller intervals are (usually) on the bottom and the larger ones move in and out of the upper reaches. (This is a gross reduction of very complex music but it's a good way to start to think about it.) I personally love the wild (and hard) ride, but I can't really blame anyone for throwing their hands up and running. But in a time of easy-listening opera available twenty-four seven, a little harshness and mystical beauty is welcome. It has been recorded, but I must warn you, following the action is even harder with the booklet! I suggest reading the synopsis and the names of the individual tracks and letting it go. I've heard it many times by now and I'm still not always sure what is what. Sometimes, that is a compliment.
P.S. If you'd like to try one of his operas that is not quite so complex, a well-recorded, played, sung, and even acted version of his latest work, The Minotaur, is out on DVD. Make it through the somewhat slow first scene, and you won't be able to stop watching.
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.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Two (or more) of a Kind pt. 2
The story of Manon Lescaut has been the heroine (if that's the right word) of not just the two famous examples of Massenet and Puccini, but two less-well known, but nonetheless interesting examples. They include the first and the last (that I know of) operatic versions: one a formulaic though still worth hearing opera comique by Daniel Auber, Manon Lescaut, the other a very 20th Century one-of-a-kind modernization by Hans Werner Henze, Boulevard Solitude. (If you don't know the Massenet and Puccini operas, what's keeping you? Go listen or see them. Very good videos exist of both: The Scotto / Domingo MET Puccini, the Fleming / Alvarez Massenet.)
The Auber is hardly a work of genius but it does show what opera comique was before real geniuses took over. All the conventions are here: light romances (or cavatinas) for the leading lady which show off her versatility and lack of a heavy instrument (this was before Carmen though too many mezzos over-sing it), tenor heroes, love duets, ensembles that fit a routine of soloists with chorus, starting small but building to a big climax with plenty of high notes, runs, trills, etc. The ends were not always happy though most of the music is light and (sometimes comically) positive. Opera comique is a form few people really know and this is a good way to delve into it. This particular example is stereotypical in its form and above average in invention. The only recording I know of gives a good reading. The leading lady is a bit shrill, but versatile, and the lead tenor is stylish. If you know the two famous versions, the interest increases.
The Henze is much more interesting, well, more than that--wonderful. It caused a stir and a controversy when it was first produced, due as much to the modern touches like drugs and jazz and the greed that feeds the plot (Manon and her brother are more like grifters. She is anything but innocent. She goes to jail for murder.) The music is a very unique mixture of the aforementioned jazz, tonality, atonality, chant, and admittedly lyrical twelve tone rows. The scenes are tense and stylistically different from each other as the whole thing rolls inevitably to a hard (anti-?) climax. A recent video makes a very good case for it. The whole production is dwarfed by a railway station where people come and go and never connect. The singing is of a very high level (for once in a modern work) and the singers are good actors as well. Like the Auber, knowledge of the two famous versions makes the work even more fascinating. If you can't find the Auber, at least get the Henze.
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.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Two (or more) of a Kind pt. 1
Sometimes my brain just goes somewhere weird, and this is one of those times. I have always been fascinated by those oddities of music history where different composers taking a stab at the same book or play or myth and come up with something completely different (and not just the music.) One of the oddest "doublings" is Hector Berlioz and Kurt Weill writing comic operas on Benvenuto Cellini's Autobiography. A larger-than-life character, Cellini must have seemed ideal as a hero for a popular work. Alas, both Benvenuto Cellini (Berlioz) and The Firebrand of Florence (Weill) were horrible flops in their first productions. Both have had champions since, but they are far from "easy" to produce and perform, so no wonder the first audiences (and performers) had so much trouble. Anyone can listen to them on fine recordings (beware the Weimar version of the Berlioz) and compare, but here are a few ideas on each. Personally, I think these two geniuses have come up with two masterworks (Berlioz's a masterPIECE, yes it is, don't argue with me. That means you--you know who you are.) Listen and see for yourself.
Berlioz wanted to conquer the Paris Opera, so he wrote the opera comique to end all opera comiques. It had everything an opera comique could ever want: Lovely arias for the lovers (Cellini has two), comic duets, trios, ensembles, action, farce, romance, a dash of violence (okay, most opera comiques don't have a dash of violence) and a great musical build-up to the happy ending. But all of them were "super-charged" and left the audience, singers, orchestra, and conductor in the dust. Today, we've heard many more complex works and, with some concentration, can hear his great musical ideas that just proliferate throughout the work and enjoy them. (The Carnival Finale to Act One is unlike anything else, even today.) The orchestration alone is a marvel of its--hell, ANY--time. I personally smile every time I hear the bassoon mock the comic father by playing along with his low note during one of his "laments." (He almost continuously laments. It might not sound wonderful, but it is.) And he gets mocked again during the Carnival scene, where a troupe of actors "portray" him on a stage (while the "real" character watches) and--oh, just go listen, or better yet, if you're in New York, watch the MET production when it comes back next year. I'll just say the orchestration alone is funny.
The libretto--which has been criticized by some and blamed in part for the operas poor reception--is never less than functional and frequently more than that. Berlioz was obviously inspired by it. I've heard it many times and I have seen the MET production when it was premiered during the composer's Bi-Centennial year. It plays beautifully. But you have to pay attention. It is not The Barber of Seville (to name a comic opera where characters are shared by more than one work.) It has a much more complex story, is musically more sophisticated and requires virtuoso musicians from top to bottom--onstage and in the pit-- and is far-less frequently done, so the world hasn't already heard half the arias before the curtain goes up. And Berlioz has heard more chords than I-IV-V-I in three different keys. And colleges can't perform it with students. (So I don't LOOOOOVE Rossini. Bite me.) Maybe it's still a connoisseur's opera in it's opera comique on steriods approach, but anyone with a little musical sophistication can get something out of it. Others can go watch Barber at your neighborhood junior college.
Now the Weill piece is not nearly as successful as a whole, but PARTS of it are wonderful. Actually, from a musical standpoint, MOST of it is wonderful. Alas, the libretto is poor and even Ira Gershwin is not on his best form. (Some of the rhymes are so forced, you have to say, "What?") But it has a lovely duet for the two lovers, many comic numbers for most of the other characters, some clever ensemble writing, good solos, etc. etc. The "characteristic" Weill orchestrations, harmonies, and melodies are prolix here, and enjoyable on their own. Part of its original failure seems to have been a casting problem: most of these roles require true "operetta" voices, not "musical comedy" ones. He got a musical comedy cast and all the flaws of the show came right to the foreground and it's mastery fell away. But you can go listen to an odd but still charming recording--it keeps all the music intact but does away with the "bad" book by describing it in rhymed verse. ( I warned you it was odd.) The singing is masterly, though, so it does the musical side full justice. And a wonderful singer I went to school with named Lucy Schaufer has a role and more people should hear her so she might get more recordings.
So two "flops" that are musically wonderful. Go listen to them (or try to catch Cellini.) Tomorrow, four Manons...yes, four.
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.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Great opera experience at THE MET
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thanksgiving list
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.
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.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
One Man's Wobble
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.
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.
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