[SFGate.com, 2 September 2010]
Dear Mr. Kosman: How come we don't have any modern opera composers that approach those of the past? When you hear "Carmen" or "Tosca," you can hum the melodies of those compositions, but I dare anyone to hum the melodies of anything composed after 1930. It would be so nice to hear a new "warhorse" opera. Where is the modern-day version of Verdi, Wagner, Puccini or Bizet?
By Dylan Loeb McClain [NY Times, 2 September 2010]
Sunday’s chess column was about Noam Elkies, a Harvard mathematics professor who is also a music composer and chess player. Though Elkies is unusual at being talented in all three areas, he is not entirely unique. Through the years, there have been a number of strong chess players who were excellent mathematicians or musicians.
“I just saw a woman upstairs,” said poet/translator Richard Howard, “wearing a very large pair of sunglasses that made her look for all the world like a great dragonfly.”
“Upstairs” was the balcony at the Met; at the time, I was taking Howard’s lecture on the subject of frivolity in literature, and so when I spotted him at the Lulu intermission I went up to say hi and grin vapidly, which is what I tend to do when I run into a dazzlingly smart person.
“And as she was sort of flitting about,” he continued, “she saw me standing there, just beaming, and she came up to me and said, ‘You certainly look as if you’re enjoying yourself!’ I had to confess that I was, I was enjoying it tremendously, and she said, ‘Well I’m not. I’m leaving.’”
He told this story again to our class the next day, apropos I think of Zuleika Dobson, with the moral lesson that even though it was, in his estimation, a perfect novel, he could understand that some of us might not enjoy it—that there are works of art, like Lulu, that just aren’t for everybody. If we can appreciate them, our lives will be so much the richer, but there will always be those who walk in expecting something different, and walk out very disappointed, and that doesn’t mean they’re idiots or philistines.
After all, it was my first time seeing Lulu onstage, and it certainly wasn’t what I had expected either, even though I’d listened to my recording (Boulez/Stratas) many, many times. I had always imagined Lulu’s story as that of a scheming villainess, fucking and manipulating her way to the top of the social ladder, then being crushed down again by a brutal poetic justice.
Her famous Act II Lied, in which she claims that the men she’s destroyed have really only destroyed themselves, was an especially cruel boast, like the other conversational hand-grenades she daintily tosses to her admirers: “I poisoned your mother,” she tells her stepson in an intimate moment earlier in that act; “Isn’t this the sofa where your father bled to death?” she asks him when they embrace again at the end of it. What a monster, to taunt her victims so mercilessly!
The Lulu I imagined, a visceral shocker replete with gunplay, prostitution, serial killer, and of course the Diseased Lesbian Underwear Switcheroo that is literally the turning-point of the opera (and possibly the most sordid plot device in opera history?), was a grand and savage affair indeed—a slam-bang number, like Wozzeck, but bigger and filthier.
But this was a pleasant surprise. The Lulu I saw onstage was very different: she really believed that her victims had been willing sacrifices, and what’s more, she was right. She wasn’t taunting her victims, she was being honest—she was being natural, a beast, just like the Ringmaster tells us she is in the opening prologue. “She’s innocent!” cries one of her lovers (a schoolboy) after she’s shot her husband, and of course it’s an ironic joke at the schoolboy’s expense, but in a way she is: innocent as a poisonous snake. Her fall is as undeserved as her rise.
Much of the credit for changing my mind about Lulu (and Lulu) belongs to Christine Schäfer, who sang the role that night, and on the new recording—presently under review, although I’ve certainly taken my time getting around to it, haven’t I—which was taped during the same run. Unfortunately, these discs are strictly audio, so you can’t see her girlish looks and presence, but you can hear her eerily pure vocal performance.
To be honest, her singing often leaves me a bit ambivalent, although I have some difficulty articulating why that is. It could be that she doesn’t have an especially warm or bright instrument (there’s a lot of flute, not a lot of trumpet, in her timbre), but sometimes she seems to think she does, eschewing the snappy vibrato or phrasing that another singer might use to liven up the sound of such an airy voice. Am I making sense? I know there are people reading this who know a lot more about these things than I do, so I’ll just shut up now.
But my point is that Schäfer doesn’t go the expected route here—vamping’ it up—but instead plays Lulu almost “like a madonna,” as Frank Wedekind asked of his wife when she originated the role in his plays. Her glassy voice seems as much a cipher to the listener as Lulu herself is to her admirers.
Credit is also due, of course, to James Levine, who may be the real star of this set. It was produced in his honor, right? He does supply the requisite shocks, certainly—the death of Lulu is about as wrenching here as you can imagine—but Berg’s score is also surprisingly elegant, and impossibly complex.
Yes, I know that this is really not the place to launch into a defense of 12-tone music, but there’s no better argument for it than the absurdly overdetermined score of Berg’s Lulu. He uses an array of serial tricks that have a real, audible impact. His main characters have their own, closely related, 12-tone rows, most of which can be divided neatly into a set of 6 “white keys” and then a set of all 5 “black keys” plus one—so he’s got the tonal implications of the diatonic scale right under his fingers if he wants them.
Then he arranges these rows to achieve readily audible, characteristic gestures: the lesbian Countess, for instance, has her music underscored by the queer droning of open fifths; the brutal Athlete is frequently introduced by the mashing of two clusters on the piano, one all seven white keys and one all five black keys.
And this isn’t even getting into the piece’s taut rhythmic organization. I never noticed before that the cadence of Lulu’s four spoken (screamed) “NO”s, just before her offstage evisceration, becomes the rhythm of the dark fanfare that recurs constantly throughout the piece, but I’ll never not notice it again.
So, who you gonna call when you need a lush, lyrical orchestral sound, combined with meticulous modernistic precision? The Man With the Jewfro, that’s who. The Met Orchestra sounds terrific, I want to say “flawless,” and perhaps more importantly the drama races ahead and lingers in all the right places.
The supporting cast of Lulu’s admirers puts in virtuoso performances: James Courtney broods superbly as Lulu’s final husband, the doomed Dr. Schön (and as Jack the Ripper, in a dual role); Hanna Schwarz’s unlovely, mannish, but heart-tuggingly sympathetic mezzo is ideal for the butch and tragic Countess. David Kuebler produces a brilliant sound in the punishing tessitura of Schön’s son Alwa, although the lucid orchestral doubling of his big solos make it painfully clear that he subscribes somewhat to the old tenor adage, “It’s better to be sharp than to be out of tune.”
As an all-around desert island set, Boulez’s recording probably comes out on top, but a collector of Lulus ought to find this a delicious second recording—and honestly, if you’re shelling out for this box and ain’t a huge Berg fan (that’s okay! I forgive you! See paragraph 2!), you can probably be satisfied with this one ’til the end of your days. I give it twelve tones up.
La Cieca is proud to unveil what she hopes will become your second-favorite calendar: The New York Opera Calendar at Parterre. This handy resource includes an exhaustive list of opera and opera-related performances for the 2010-2011 season, the better to plan your busy social life. Opera companies and members of the cher public who have events they want to include in the calendar (or who can provide your doyenne with an introduction to one of the dieux du stade) are asked to email La Cieca with details.
Igor Stravinsky was a bit of a musical shapeshifter in his day, especially when compared to his contemporaries in early 20th century Europe. Given, the time in which Stravinsky was living in Europe was one of the most dynamic periods in recent history, but few were able to consistently generate music of such varying style as effortlessly and beautifully as he. This mastery of diversity can been seen clearly in the triple bill of Stravinsky works which was presented at The Met in 1984 titled simply: Stravinsky.
The recording of this broadcast will be included in the upcoming James Levine 40th Anniversary Box Set. And rightfully so, as it illustrates Levine’s incredible control of an orchestra and deeply convincing interpretations of psychologically intense music.
The evening begins with Stravinsky’s most famous work, Le Sacre du Printemps. This brutal reading, highlighted by intense rhythmic accents and beautifully phrased melodies. The depth of sound that Levine coaxes out of his orchestra is a wonder, aggressively regal at times, highlighting the native nobility of The Chosen One. The orchestra is almost mechanically precise, but also vibrantly emotive throughout the course of this wonderful performance.
Next on the docket that evening, and on the CD, is the rarely heard first opera by Stravinsky, Le Rossignol. Based on the children’s story by Hans Christian Andersen, this tale of a magical Nightingale that heals the Emperor of China is deceptively emotionally complex. Indeed, Puccini wasn’t the only major opera composer in the first decade of the 20th century fascinated with the Far East, as Le Rossignol is full of those sounds which we associate with the Orient.
It is striking in another way as well, though. Begun in 1908 and put aside until after the completion of his commissions from Diaghilev, which included Firebird and Le Sacre du Printemps, the score bears the marks of Stravinsky’s more romantic and folksy early compositional style, as well as some brutal and dissonant marks of his Primalistic phase which so famously peaked in 1913, especially noticed in the difference between Act I and Act II.
As the magical nocturnal fowl, Gianna Rolandi easily tosses of the long stretches of coloratura with a graceful agility and a beautiful, even timbre. Tenor Philip Creech doesn’t have the easiest or most aurally pleasing top register, but the sound is one fitting a weathered fisherman, who narrates the story throughout. Morley Meredith’s blustery Emperor is best towards the end when he welcomes the Nightingale back to his kingdom with a sombre appreciation that is truly touching.
Last on the program is Stravinsky’s Opera-Oratorio Oedipus Rex. This very concise telling of the middle part of Sophocles’ Oedipus Trilogy is a noble piece of musical theater, with moments of regal grandeur that would make kings blush juxtaposed with the intimate psychological intensity of one of the world’s great pieces of drama. Not yet settled in his Neo-Classical style, the beginnings of Stravinsky’s evolution are very evident but not without direct application to the drama. Especially under the commanding baton of Levine, the score rings with beauty and power that reminds you of composers past, while still belonging entirely to Stravinsky’s own unique voice.
Anthony Dowell is the Speaker for the performance, and his finely articulate British accent lends an austere but somehow cold feeling to his summations of the action on stage; almost as if a Shakespearean actor were reading the nightly news. William Lewis‘ Oedipus has the bite and command that one would expect out of an Oedipus, although he has a slightly older sounding voice than I would expect from a young king. He still forcefully projects his full lyric tenor, and I don’t mean that as a slander.
Florence Quivar’s Jocasta wonderfully illustrates the horrible turn of events that befall her in almost an instant with heartbreaking legato and a tone that ebbs from warm and sensual to saddened and defeated by the end of the opera. Special note should also be given to a wonderful turn by the Met Chorus in this piece.
By BWW News Desk [Broadway World, 1 September 2010]
Washington National Opera (WNO) and The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts have announced the retirement of Music Director Heinz Fricke. The announcement marks the conclusion of the German maestro's remarkable 18-year tenure leading the Washington National Opera Orchestra and the Kennedy Center Opera House Orchestra, which cooperatively share a corps of 61 professional musicians.
La Cieca has managed to obtain a few minutes of video, pirated at great personal risk, from a dress rehearsal of the Met’s new production of Das Rheingold.
Everybody loves an orgy. But, in the words of Betsy Ann Bobolink (pictured), “a really good orgy takes preparation, and I don’t mean Preparation H.”
Our Betsy continues (discussing, I mean) after the jump.
Betsy continues:
Length is important.
And it should include something no one has ever done before.
Timing is critical.
But at least we have a place.
The La Cieca Chat Room will be open this weekend for virtually non-stop opera listening and verbal mauling coinciding with the Free Trial of the Met Player.
We need to set specific times and specific operas, and I am soliciting input from everyone. Go to the MetPlayer index where you can browse through the list of nearly 300 archive items and let me know what you would like to have on the schedule.
More importantly, suggest a time slot. This event should be convenient for the Antipodes folks and the Europeans as well as the New Yorkers and Left Coasters.
Make your suggestions either as a reply to this post, or to House Of Bobolink. I’ll collate all the responses and work out a schedule.
I’m so excited; I haven’t been to an orgy in years. Let’s see, what should I wear?
By Alan Rodger [Herald Scotland, 31 August 2010]
Michael Tumelty’s trenchant criticism of the decision to reduce the orchestra of Scottish Opera to half-time working is high on anger and suggestions of mischief (“Hang your head in shame, Scottish Opera, you are a disgrace to the nation”, Herald Arts, August 28).