tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32371275095478935652024-02-19T23:35:32.653-08:00The Chromatic MuseThoughts on music, the state of the audience, and the price of beauty.John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-83246095960211979602019-04-23T15:08:00.001-07:002019-04-24T06:42:24.950-07:00Thanks for Listening. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
</div>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Poor Kate Smith.</h2>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
It really is unconscionable that we are berating Kate Smith in 2019, and removing her statue from the stadium that so proudly played her recording of “God Bless America”—because someone realized that she also recorded songs that ‘don’t reflect the character’ that the sports facility wants to reflect. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Shall we have a séance and see if we can get Kate to apologize? I bet she would in the blink of an eye. She wasn’t a confederate general, or a white supremacist, or even a right-winger, as we think of them today. She would probably laugh out loud that anyone would judge her singing of Irving Berlin’s most famous anthem as inappropriate because she also recorded two “darkie” songs of the early 1930’s. It shows an appalling lack of understanding as to what such songs were, and why she sang them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<i>Everyone</i> is embarrassed to hear “That’s Why Darkies Were Born” because no one would write or sing such a song today. Not even white supremacists. Not even David Duke. Songs like it were the last vestige of plantation numbers that made up a solid section of vaudeville entertainment for a century or more, descending from minstrel shows. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
No one today is going to hold up Lew Brown and Ray Henderson’s lyrics as being cross-culturally inspirational, but if you read the words in the light of their vaudeville roots, the stance is not meant to be racially-biased, but skewed to the sympathetic:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; color: black;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Brothers, sisters, when this world began<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
There was work to be done<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
And it seemed that someone<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Left it to the colored man<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
This isn’t sneering or claiming superiority; it rather clumsily states that the ‘colored man’ was saddled with a huge burden of work.<br />
It’s an admission of the inequality.<o:p></o:p></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Brothers, sisters, what must be, must be<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Though the balance is wrong<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Still your faith must be strong<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Accept your destiny.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Brothers, listen to me...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
The singer is sympathizing with the plight of black people, who were being treated miserably, especially in the South, to say the least. “The balance is wrong.” Supremacists don’t say that. The exhortation “accept your destiny” is probably the harshest line in the song, but is the setup for the remainder.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Someone had to pick the cotton<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Someone had to pick the corn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Someone had to slave and be able to sing<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
That's why darkies were born<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
The rest of the song is a dichotomy—‘someone’ had to do what others didn’t want to do, and fate had it befall on black people. But note ‘able to sing’ – that’s the excuse for the song in the first place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Someone had to laugh at trouble<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Though he was tired and worn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Had to be contented with any old thing<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
That's why darkies were born<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
This stanza is heartbreaking in its trying to understand the plight of the black worker. And the question remains: do you, the listener, think that’s why they were born, to suffer the indignities that are laid out here? It presents the Negro as a tragic figure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Sing, sing, sing when you're weary<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
And sing when you're blue<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Sing, sing, that's what you taught<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
All them white folks to do<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
And again, emotionally, the lyrics speak of singing, under agonizing conditions; something they ‘taught… the white folks to do.’ <o:p></o:p></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Someone had to fight that old Devil<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Shout about Gabriel's Horn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Someone had to stoke that old train<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
That would bring God's children to green pastures<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
That's why darkies were born<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td><td style="padding: 0in 5.4pt; width: 233.75pt;" valign="top" width="234"><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
And finally, the song, in its own way, uplifts those in bondage, to overcome their supposed fate, and bring ‘God’s children’ – that is, everyone, to green pastures, superseding anything the so-called white community could do, and the ironic conclusion is <b><i>that</i></b> is why ‘darkies’ were born—to uplift everyone through their suffering.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/h_11Fb01Ujw/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/h_11Fb01Ujw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Admittedly, not a great choice of a song for Kate Smith; but it was popular in 1931, on the hit chart for 12 weeks, and recorded by no less than Paul Robeson as well. As a hit song from a musical of the day, it was plugged on the radio and in sheet music (and I bet player-piano rolls as well), to keep audiences flowing into the theater. Many of the words sit on a knife-edge of being sympathetic, or downright racist. Today, most listeners would push the lyrics over that edge and brush it all under the carpet, because parsing such tinder-box poetry is too dangerous to do. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
But remember that the ‘coon-song’ was a very popular genre for at least a century, and sold many records in the Victrola days, featuring such delightful numbers as “When a Coon Sits in the Presidential Chair,” and “All Coons Look Alike to Me” – don’t flinch from them, seriously think why such things were acceptable at the time. Kate Smith didn’t record either of those. Remember too that Kate started her career on the stage in the show, “Hit the Deck,” singing Vincent Youmans’ “Hallelujah!” in blackface. As a spokesperson for Jell-O, she had, as was said, a great face for radio. She also was humiliated on stage by Bert Lahr, who ad-libbed comments about Smith’s corpulent figure, causing her great distress. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Kate Smith, of such humble beginnings and unassuming character that when Katherine Hepburn was married to a man named Smith, she refused to take his name and be called “Kate Smith.” Kate who always began her radio show with the words “Hello, Everybody!” and ended with “Thanks for listenin’.” Kate Smith who sold $600 <i>million </i>in war bonds to help our country fight in the Second World War, who found her everlasting theme in Irving Berlin’s “God Bless America,” never asked Irving if he had written anything racist, maybe to the likes of: “Jake! Jake! The Yiddisher Ball Player,” “Cohen Owes Me Ninety-Seven Dollars,” “I'd Rather See a Minstrel Show,” “I'm an Indian Too,” “Look Out for That Bolsheviki Man,” “Pickaninny Mose,” “That's What the Well-Dressed Man in Harlem Will Wear,” “To My Mammy,” “Yiddisha Nightingale,” –and those are just the ones where the titles say all. The rich history of black and ethnic music in America is not one you can summarize in the performance of one song. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
By the way, who says Kate Smith asked to sing that Darky Song? Ted Collins her manager, no doubt. But for us to throw our hands up and expunge her memory because of a song that’s now obviously a bad choice to have sung, is much like getting a bad grade in school because your dad wore brown shoes with a blue suit to a teacher meeting. All right, melt down Kate’s statue, toss it from the Flyers’ Stadium, and scratch out her memory singing one of the most stirring pieces of popular music ever written for a song she sang in 1931 that is surely misunderstood in its (admittedly ambiguous) intent. She’s been thrown out of better places than that.</div>
</div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-81404917455800347982018-09-18T11:18:00.002-07:002018-09-18T11:21:38.809-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Rogues, Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars</h2>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
A New Gallery of Tudor and Early Stuart Rogue Literature</h3>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
edited by<br />Arthur F. Kinney</h4>
with 18 illustrations by John Lawrence.<br />
328 pp. $18.95, paper<br />
<i>University of Massachusetts Press</i><br />
ISBN 0-87023-718-7<br />
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
Reviewed by John Mucci</h4>
Mr. Mucci is Associate Editor of <i>The Elizabethan Review</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWyfl0PhkdkaGAnpjRc420jcmJHXREqT5B8c3MzbhW0aUcWLi4WRC9itSlRTf8PoXAOQjIcwjsInlgxLou4JbT9wbAioPLVIR7HzwDfR5Nb8VsvrgmwPahesH_v_y50iA-1kMi3dBpR8/s1600/rogue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWyfl0PhkdkaGAnpjRc420jcmJHXREqT5B8c3MzbhW0aUcWLi4WRC9itSlRTf8PoXAOQjIcwjsInlgxLou4JbT9wbAioPLVIR7HzwDfR5Nb8VsvrgmwPahesH_v_y50iA-1kMi3dBpR8/s320/rogue.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
On the endless road of popular culture, there has always been a genre of entertainment which supposedly reveals the mysteries of the underworld. Although whatever insight might be exposed, from the canting jargon to the details of a crime, accuracy seems to take a back seat to satisfying curiosity and a need for sensationalism.<br />
<br />
Today, there are interesting things to be learned about ourselves by reading the peculiar genre of Elizabethan pamphleteering known as rogue literature. Popular with all levels of literate society, these slender books purported to set down the manner by which con artists of all types might abscond with decent peoples' money and goods. Ostensibly written as a public service, to warn and arm society against rogues of all types, in their fascinating variety, they are an Elizabethan version of mob stories, with curious and lurid detail. This interest with the underworld and the seamiest side of life is one which has obvious parallels in modern times, particularly with readers who are most threatened by and distanced from such criminals.<br />
<br />
This so-called practical element of defending the populace against these all-too-prevalent creatures falls to second place against the pleasure of reading about others who have been hoodwinked by them (and better still, hearing the details about rogues who have been caught in the act and punished). This book is a compilation of several rogue pamphlets published in England between 1552-1612, including some by the playwrights Robert Greene and Thomas Dekker. While specialists in Elizbethan literature are no doubt familiar with these works, they are generally little known, except by title or reputation (—one might say the same thing about a book such as Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, which few have ever read full through). The plays of Jonson, Dekker, and Greene certainly abound with characters such as appear exposed in these works; Shakespeare less often, although A Winter's Tale, Henry IV, and King Lear have overtones of roguery and vagabondage. [In the latest issue of <i>The Elizabethan Review</i> note the reference to one of these works, cited by Delia Bacon (<i>ER</i>, Spring 98)].<br />
<br />
In the first pamphlet, <i>A Manifest Detection of Diceplay</i>, Gilbert Walker maintains that he is "disclosing the principal of practices of the cheaters' crafty faculty." These disclosures consist of anecdotes, which are among the most amusing in the book, even though written early (1552)— Viz. a bawd who was preparing a draught of ultra-astringent "sweet-water" to shrink the less-than-virginal cavity of an advertised "virgin," finds that her kitchen boy has mistakenly washed his face with it, and has become as puckered as a pickled prune, with barely any face visible.<br />
<br />
From a philological standpoint, the vocabulary describing these types is varied and enormous. Many of the pamphlets collected in <i>Rogues, Vagabonds, and Sturdy Beggars</i> (—a phrase apparently coined by Elizabeth, in a proclamation against them), detail nothing more than elaborate lists of what each brand of perpetrator is called, what their con-game is, and what lingo is peculiar to their kind. Viz. Palliard, Whipjack, Kintchin-Cos, Hooker, Swigman, Jarkman, Tinkard, Curtal, Queerbird, Jacks of the Clock-House... it is heady stuff, musical and ironic, invented by desperate people who guarded their language to disarm their victims. A hooker, by the way, was someone who went about with a long staff, on the end of which was affixed an iron hook; he would pass by villages where laundry was airing or drying from upper stories, and remotely filch selected duds. It smacks of a quaintness which could only be Elizabethan, and only then thought of as something so vile and wicked as to be punishable in the typically brutal manner of Elizabeth's time.<br />
<br />
Some of the cant phrases and descriptors were invented by friars displaced from the monasteries closed by Henry VIII, and have a latinate flavor (Quaroms, Patrico, Autem-Mort); some were brought over from soldiers and sailors, who when their assignments were over, could find no other source of income than cozening to stay alive. But some of these terms are probably invented whole cloth by the pamphleteers, never to be used, or heard outside the pages of the book. After all, ever-changing slang and gutter jargon—then and now —refuses to be pinned down; words would be changed as soon as the jig were up. When John Awdley, in <i>The Fraternity of Vagabonds </i>(1561) lists such rogues as the Curry Favel—one who lies abed all day and curries his coverlets rather than his horse—the ring of truth seems subjugated to the need for a long list of colorfully-named perps, the burden of which seem dearly bought. Thomas Harman's <i>A Caveat For Common Cursitors</i> (1566) not only has expanded definitions of these varied street-denizens (Swaddlers, Dummerers, Doxies, Demanders-for-Glimmer), but goes so far as to classify and name actual persons living in Middlesex County at the time.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Upright Men:<br />
Harry Smith. He driveleth when he speaketh.<br />
Thomas Gray: His toes be gone."<br />
He completes this Baedeker of baseness with a glossary of terms and a sort of Berlitz dialogue:<br />
Rogue: "She hath a Cackling-cheat, a grunting-cheat, ruff-peck, cassan, and poplar of yarrum."<br />
[Meaning:] "She hath a hen, a pig, bacon, cheese & milk porridge."</blockquote>
<br />
Linguistically, Harman's introductory essay to the reader holds one of those odd mirrors to the times, which spring up now and then in unlikely places. Under the guise of proving his honesty in the pamphlet to follow, he writes:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I thought it necessary, at this second impression, to acquaint thee with a great fault... calling these vagabonds cursitors in the entitling of my book, as runners or rangers... derived of this Latin word curro. Neither do I write it Cooresetores with a double oo, or cowresetors, with a w, which hath another signification."</blockquote>
His fussiness over spelling (in 1566, mind) is apposite to those who insist that Elizabethan orthography was haphazard and devoid of rules. Looking at the title page (typographically reproduced in the notes), we see:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A Caueat<br />
FOR COMMEN CVR<br />
SETORS VVLGARELY CALLED<br />
Vagabones...</blockquote>
— what are we to make of that immediate contradiction? (It is further complicated by the Stationer's Register calling it a "Cavaiat for commen Torsetors" and our editor referring to it as "Common Curstors")—but Harman's text goes on further:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
"Is there no diversity between a gardein and a garden, maynteynaunce and maintenance, streytes and stretes? Those that have understanding know there is a great difference."</blockquote>
<br />
Although one has the feeling Harman is talking about an ideal which could be seldom attained in his day, his protestations against mis-readings and sloppy spelling is worth reading in its entirety.<br />
At the end of his life, (1591-2), Robert Greene published <i>A Notable Discovery of Cozenage</i> and <i>The Black Book's Messenger</i>, both of which pessimistically portray life in London to be frought with all sorts of characters out to swindle at every turn. It is a great comedy in the guise of cautionary tales, divided into <i>The Art of Cony Catching </i>and <i>The Art of Crosbiting </i>both of which are so minutely examined that the descriptions become more than the "how-to's" seen in the previous works, they have become playlets. The descriptions contain dialogue, action cues, characterizations, and complex motives, as thorough as in any of Greene's theater works.<br />
<br />
As the genre hit its stride and began to decline, Thomas Dekker's work in<i> Lanthorne and Candle- Light </i>(1608) displays much the same attributes as other cony-catching pamphlets, yet Dekker seems more in control of his material. He too, has comprehensive descriptions of the same types we have read about before, but he drops them for more easily-readable terms, and organizes his material in a more popular manner. He calls the various predators and victims by more common names, making his enumerated encounters almost allegorical. Thus we hear of not only conies being caught, but the warrens in which they live, and ferrets who root them out. We hear of falconers and concomittant falconry images: casting lures and bait, Tercel-Gentles, anglers with jades, and such material so rich in metaphor, it nearly out-lingoes the rogues themselves.<br />
<br />
Dekker also makes use of familiar plays to draw comparisons, everything from <i>Doctor Doddypol</i> to <i>Hamlet</i>. It is a novel approach, one which causes the material to be more accessible to a mass audience. In context with the rest of the collection, it is evident that the rogue genre has branched onto paths which intersect with the highways of the commonplace; where the anecdotes become diluted into everyday speech and literature.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHEdN0suYeDuRP8AWi465yQyrofuHdSVvxE9Piz-u8kkWP2021ow6vEcndvbbPcYNWLueyYHUmoYB_0t2wiUY93AWEfZOr0LTwe13AMse9fwooW4UfapSUznopWwv3dthEcnVACkDEiCg/s1600/jugg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="484" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHEdN0suYeDuRP8AWi465yQyrofuHdSVvxE9Piz-u8kkWP2021ow6vEcndvbbPcYNWLueyYHUmoYB_0t2wiUY93AWEfZOr0LTwe13AMse9fwooW4UfapSUznopWwv3dthEcnVACkDEiCg/s400/jugg.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
<br />
The remaining selection, Samuel Rid's <i>The Art of Juggling</i>, seems pale in comparison, and is literally, a handbook on magic tricks; no longer shocking, no longer challenging in its language, it is flat and derivative. The road fans out and disappears.<br />
<br />
These reprints are carefully collated and selected by Arthur Kinney with an eye toward showing the progression in style with a minimum of intrusion in the body of the work. However, this is despite an introduction which is inexplicably heavy-handed, with notes glossing the obvious, giving an alarming impression of the editor. One sample of a dozen suffices in his giving an authentic Elizabethan quote:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"..men that are abroade se[e]kinge the spoile and confusion of land are able, if they weare [were] reduced to good subjeccion [subjection] to give the greatest enimie [enemy] her Majestie hath a stronge battell [battle]; And as they ar[e] nowe they are so mych [much] strength..."</blockquote>
<br />
Indeed, this is commenting on sand in the desert. However, in the bulk of the text Mr.Kinney updates the spelling (and why not do that in the introduction—spare the reader these overelucidations), and we are generally free from his fussy explications. One which persists, however, is his expansion of "I[n] th[e]" —an Elizabethan locution if there ever was one, typographically spoiled by pedanticism.<br />
His footnotes are thorough, if bewildering. Tyburn, for example, is glossed no fewer than four times in the text, and not always in the same way. Later, the footnotes inexplicably jump from number 64 to 67. The two missing notes make their appearance later on, and we are treated also to 61a, 61b, and 81a. Surely in a reprint, there is the opportunity to sort such tangles out. There is no need to strew such a scholarly path with brambles.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-16312768439025047112018-09-18T11:02:00.006-07:002018-09-18T11:09:54.566-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #bc2b2b; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica"; font-size: large;"><b>Alfred Hitchcock: Music from His Films</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica"; font-size: x-small;"><b>Behind the Silhouette: Alfred Hitchcock CD and exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, New York</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica"; font-size: xx-small;"><img alt="" height="1" src="https://www.jmucci.com/BHWP%20Reviews%20Alfred%20Hitchcock%20Music%20from%20His%20Films_files/pix.gif" vspace="1" width="1" /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica"; font-size: xx-small;">BY</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica"; font-size: xx-small;"> </span><b style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica;">JOHN MUCCI</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica"; font-size: xx-small;">,</span><br />
<br />
Bernard Herrmann is featured at a small exhibition in the Museum of Modern Art, New York, until August 17. Celebrating the 100th birthday of Alfred Hitchcock, it pays tribute to the many facets of the director's persona: producer, showman, artist, and, just as important, man of copious wit and attention to detail. It features scripts, correspondence, posters, and set renderings that make up an unusual if spotty retrospective. Musically, Herrmann provides the lion's share of interest. His desperate letter to get Marnie's music begun ("can you please send me a script?") and the fateful letter terminating his agreement after the Torn Curtain débâcle are there, some in perfect facsimile, others original. It is quite touching to see Herrmann's letters, written in black and underlined in red, with copious misspellings, signed "Love, Benny." How I'd love to have seen scores or cue sheets: but Benny's work had to fit into Hitch's retrospective.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qo2SsvmIWSfWmqStvkSyMEeZLsURwDI3TdxMfCHGjisvEZI5A8ukMjP5OPo8OAMHiwqOwTgwvJvJzAjSnQ3SL4i9WXC_CPG0sZEaKCbL1bhOLB-Yfd_45OnPaq9YP94fEZqTXxmQyts/s1600/cd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qo2SsvmIWSfWmqStvkSyMEeZLsURwDI3TdxMfCHGjisvEZI5A8ukMjP5OPo8OAMHiwqOwTgwvJvJzAjSnQ3SL4i9WXC_CPG0sZEaKCbL1bhOLB-Yfd_45OnPaq9YP94fEZqTXxmQyts/s1600/cd.jpg" /></a></div>
MoMa has compiled and is distributing a CD of Hitchcock film music from various sources, with five of the 7 Herrmann scores represented. Although most of it has been released before, they seem to be more in context with their lesser brethren. For, from a strictly critical point of view, it is evident that Herrmann's work stands head and shoulders over the others, even when the Waxman, Tiomkin, and Rosza scores are so very good. Most of Herrmann's scores have the advantage, of course, of being re-recorded recently, and the tracks from Marnie, Vertigo, and Psycho are the well-miked versions of Varèse Sarabande and Silva. But we are treated to "Conversation Piece" from the soundtrack of North by Northwest and "Manny In His Cell" from that of The Wrong Man. Extracted from their film elements, and not often heard elsewhere, it makes a lovely addition, if brief, to anyone's Herrmann collection.<br />
<br />
The CD's last track is Benny himself speaking, expounding on the importance of music in film for almost four minutes. This has been heard before in an even longer version on another CD, taken from a 1972 interview. Spoken in his elliptical, almost enigmatic style, it is a curiosity at best, and one is hard pressed to think why this commentary is better than the rapturously eloquent music that is of core importance to this disc, and to Hitchcock's best work. He simply did not express himself well with words, although he was well-read. His genius is readily apparent on this disc.<br />
<br />
Since most of the music on the Hitchcock CD deals with suspense or romantic cues, it is interesting to compare how similar cues are treated by other composers. For instance, the charming cue to the opening credits of Hitchcock's first sound film, Blackmail (1929), uses fairly typical "hurry music" of repeated sixteenth notes (in "turn" fashion-say, repeated d-c-b-c on the piano). But when the rooftop chase from "Vertigo" suddenly comes on, this turn-figure, which Herrmann coincidentally uses as well, becomes the terrifying, monstrous fearful descent into a cataclysm that he so calculatedly made it. Juxtaposition with the earlier work of another composer makes it all the more appreciated.<br />
<br />
Even the Franz Waxman theme from <i>Rebecca</i>, with its chromatic sweep (signature from his "<i>Frankenstein</i>" days), and Tiomkin's terrific opening to <i>Strangers on a Train</i>--which seems to prefigure the comic "Portrait of Hitch" at times--are excellent examples of intelligent film scoring and are well collected here.<br />
<br />
The CD can be ordered directly from MoMA's online store.<br />
<br />
CD tracks:<br />
<i>North by Northwest</i> (1959) Bernard Herrmann<br />
1. The Wild Ride<br />
2. Conversation Piece<br />
<br />
<i>Rebecca</i> (1940) Franz Waxman<br />
3. Prelude<br />
<br />
<i>Young and Innocent </i>(1937) Louis Levy<br />
4. No One Can Like the Drummer Man<br />
5. Erica at the Mill<br />
<br />
<i>Vertigo</i> (1958) Bernard Herrmann<br />
6. The Rooftop Chase<br />
7. Scène d’amour<br />
<br />
<i>Strangers On A Train</i> (1951) Dimitri Tiomkin<br />
8. Prologue/Duet for Four Feet<br />
9. Guy Goes to the Anthony Mansion<br />
<br />
<i>Suspicion</i> (1941) Franz Waxman<br />
10. Main Title<br />
<br />
<i>Psycho</i> (1960) Bernard Herrmann<br />
11. The Murder<br />
12. Marion And Sam<br />
13. Patrol Car<br />
<br />
<i>Blackmail</i> (1929) Campbell & Connely<br />
14. Main Titles/Prologue<br />
<br />
<i>Spellbound</i> (1945) Miklos Rosza<br />
15. Concerto Prelude<br />
<br />
<i>The 39 Steps</i> (1935) Louis Levy<br />
16. The Chase on the Moor<br />
17. Love Theme<br />
<br />
<i>The Wrong Man</i> (1957) Bernard Herrmann<br />
18. Manny in his Cell<br />
<br />
<i>Interview</i><br />
19. Bernard Herrmann</div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-33917801519178437852018-09-18T10:52:00.001-07:002018-09-18T10:56:27.298-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Anton Kuerti in Concert</h3>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
The Pianist as Performer: a Discordant Recital</h4>
<br />
"Evenings of Music"<br />
for the <i>Fairfield Citizen News</i><br />
by John Mucci<br />
<br />
Pianist Anton Kuerti, fifth artist presented in Fairfield University's "Evenings of Music" series, performed in his recent concert two sonatas by Beethoven, and one by Schubert.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3LrTu7kf2aO9VZUScU9qw7pcxuvXiyghHkzGWdAaeU5FDH_0nrsiw1_5mtVK6DaArNBKSdTUKDr7j52TxQ7TFiK8C4ygJjQDSFiqdEGzicULf28fvMXNKETC8a8PKdcTJ7SYTKF7iQU/s1600/kuerti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3LrTu7kf2aO9VZUScU9qw7pcxuvXiyghHkzGWdAaeU5FDH_0nrsiw1_5mtVK6DaArNBKSdTUKDr7j52TxQ7TFiK8C4ygJjQDSFiqdEGzicULf28fvMXNKETC8a8PKdcTJ7SYTKF7iQU/s1600/kuerti.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anton Kuerti</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The sonata is an old and respected musical form, embodying several musical conventions in its most classic style, but one which is generally dedicated to presenting two divergent—many times bipolar—ideas. Through the skill and imagination of both composer and performer, these opposites are developed separately, combined, or reconciled in some emotional or inttellectual way. Normally, a pianst will tackle such problems only musically. But Kuerti managed to alienate much of his audience, thereby creating a physical, palpable, bipolarization, which was fascinatiing to watch. Such physical and musical problems had to be overcome, and the performance was—if I may continue the analogy—succesful in half its endeavor, and a failure in the remaining half.<br />
<br />
He plays, first of all, in that personally affected manner which I had hoped was no longer fashionable, with fluid wrist spasms, and unnecessary flourishes. They are forgiveable in Kuerti's case, however, because he played Beethoven's S<i>onata in E major</i> (Op. 109) superbly. The dichotomy of sight versus sound added immeasurably to the piece.<br />
<br />
Sometime in his life, Ludwig van Beethoven must have regretted that humans are born with only ten fingers. Kuerti's performance seemed to defy such limitations, taking up his countryman's challenge, dividing the two hands into extreme highs and lows, alternating with the weaving of a homogeneous sound-fabric in the center of the keyboard. The divergent elements in the music are unabashedly schizoid; at this point, Beethoven's impending deafness allowed him his most acute hearing at the highest and lowest sound registers. Passages abound with the melody sailing up in the top end, and the extreme bass loudly growling out the darkest of harmonies. It makes for a hollow, almost desperate sound. And yet, there are moments of profound introspection here that represent Beethoven at his most resigned. In the first case, Kuerti has a brave, almost quixotic pedalfoot and a <i>martellato</i> that could crack cement. In the second, his <i>gesangvoll</i> is pure anodyne of quiet passion.<br />
<br />
This led to the next bifurcation in the performance. Perhaps no more intelligent a pedaller there is besides Kuerti, in all pianism. This aspect is often neglected, because of the general disapprobation we accord feet outside the Rockettes and the decathlon; but the division between keys and pedals was remarkable, alternately blurring and delineating, characterizing the Beethoven in a most original way.<br />
<br />
The E-major Sonata ends with a series of variations, and ends with a mighty trill that dominates and summarizes the piece, concluding with an ephemeral coda. Kuerti then disappeared quickly: he seemed barely pleased.<br />
<br />
This performer has a reminiscence of <i>Alt Wien</i> about him, in his blue velvet suit. It distances him from us. Futhermore, two his brief comments before the next piece, one: that he had heard the acoustics are terrible in the room, and two, (somewhat belying the first) that he could hear everyone out there perfectly well, jewelry rattling, programs scraping and all, which suddenly made everyone feel uncomfortable, perfectly setting the scene for the "Waldstein Sonata" which followed. (Both comments were probably reeasonable; but it was the admonition to "be careful next time" that made everyone so anxious and afraid to move a muscle. The whole tension thus supplied was splendidly intensified by janitors upstairs moving around heavy furniture or zinc washtubs or something equally ponderous. The vicarious guilt added much.)<br />
<br />
Again, Kuerti's affinity for Beethoven was apparent in the "Waldstein." Such a famous work is often difficult to approach, but he went at it with a will. And yet the pianist was plainly at odds with his instrument. That monolithic black narwhal that Fairfield University bought from Steinway under the impression that it is a pianoforte once again showed its full frequency range. The treble half loves to be capricious, now flat, now very flat, now embarrassingly flat.<br />
<br />
The rippling sequences of the "Waldstein" rolled off Kuerti's fingers. It is a relentless piece, full of bravura and passion. The phrases build to a powerul pinnacle, only to be supplanted by a new series, which build similarly, to be supplanted again (much as Wagner was later famously to do): it is strong material to work with. in the wagging, rubicund face, the apoplectic quiverings, the driving energy of the performer, the power of the first movement came through.<br />
<br />
Then it stopped.<br />
<br />
The brief, slow sections of the "Waldstein" and the rest of the concert were mechanical; technically proficient, but performed by a fellow whose intent seemed focused on little else than technical proficiency. He fulfilled his audience in the first half of the concert; he fulfilled his contract in the second.<br />
<br />
Schubert's "Moments Musicaux," pressed flat between the Beethoven and Schubert sonatas, had to the the most dispassionate, vapid little nothings ever written by that composer. Like chocolates left in the box (because everyone knows and disapproves of how they taste) they reveal nothing new on sampling them.<br />
<br />
It is a pity that Kuerti inverted his program at the last moment; had he begun with Schubert, as planned, and ended with Beethoven, there was a chance to build, to reconcile and reunite the physical and musical elements at Fairfield's auditorium. I think it unfortunate that he was unable to play his audience as well as the piano.<br />
<br />
There were no encores.<br />
<br /></div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-54333627297202270082018-09-18T10:49:00.002-07:002018-09-18T10:49:46.718-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Andrew Heath Concert</h3>
<br />
<i>"Evenings of Music"</i><br />
by John Mucci<br />
<br />
<i>Fairfield Citizen News</i><br />
<br />
Fairfield County's love for pianist Andrew Heath was more than evident in the full house which greeted his concert on Friday at Fairfield University. the program opened the school's "Evenings of Music" series.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UAf1S7JA6mGZVoXFUonuuTp-76Ad4flzaUgRpLKJ4YRPpESbDTuQUlgVWTnhaWsaeENZOrmjvj9flaM8mwsk8EDWpb1EGdkEzw9hcg8JMzA-5zcGRQgOicNF81hcOpXiMSfS9GKNQBM/s1600/heath2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="513" data-original-width="390" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UAf1S7JA6mGZVoXFUonuuTp-76Ad4flzaUgRpLKJ4YRPpESbDTuQUlgVWTnhaWsaeENZOrmjvj9flaM8mwsk8EDWpb1EGdkEzw9hcg8JMzA-5zcGRQgOicNF81hcOpXiMSfS9GKNQBM/s320/heath2.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andrew Heath</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Heath's eclectic program kept a cautious balance between classic and modern works. First on the program was a sonata by Elliott Carter—a product of the hybrid style of 1940's American Music. Not wiling to lapse into a single tonality, not exactly atonal, it is a raw, diatonic work which wanders up and down the keyboard like an imprecise bullet, endlessly ricocheting. Its angular motion is reminiscent of the B-A-C-H motif, using minor seconds and minor ninths to achieve a disturbing, restless fabric. Relief from the shrill treble iterations (which tend to sound as though the pianist's right hand had an elastic band around two fingers) comes in the form of major-triad harmonics which are welcome, even if unvaried.<br />
<br />
Heath dived into Carter's Sonata with great delight; his enthusiasm for it may well have gained the patience of the audience (which always seems restless as such compositions), but his query to those present—"would you like to hear that one all over again?"—brought an anxious ripple of laughter.<br />
<br />
Haydn's "Andante con Variazioni" was performed in a precise manner, as cool and chiselled as a piece of topiary. Bach's "Partita in B-flat" seemed a bit academically hammered out, and soon it became clear that the instrument upon which Heath was playing was responsible for much of the stiffness in dynamics and the difficulty he seemed to be having in grading a true crescendo from something quiet to anything representing fortissimo. The Steinway used had such a dry, curt response that many legato passages suffered, and, particularly in the next piece, it became something of a battle between Heath and Steinway to keep the more mellifluent Ravel from sounding as brittle as Bach.<br />
<br />
Truly the high point of the program, Ravel's "Sonatine de 1905" is the unchecked emotion found in Carter's Sonata, dressed in the oscelot furs from a salon of Sarah Bernhardt. The composer's idioms are so distinctively ornate and elegant, that neither stiff action nor the (by now) false temperament of the Steinway's top end could harm it. Heath's rendering of each arabesque, or sequence of serpentined chord blocks was a delight to hear.<br />
<br />
Heath brings a great deal of tension to the music; even in the softest passages there is the insistence of enegy held in reserve. Only perhaps twice in the concert did he use all his strength, and to great effect—once in the Ravel, once in the Brahms which closed the program.<br />
<br />
Brahms' vigorous "E-flat Rhapsody" is bottom-heavy, (as is much of his work) and Heath spared no force in his playing. As in the Carter and Ravel, this is a third facet of passion, massive and rude, but orderly, and most logical. It is also the piece in which Heath came closest to playing passionately. The distance he generated in Bach or Haydn was gone. This seemed much more personal.<br />
<br />
Chopin and Scott Joplin were sandwiched between these last two mnubers. The three Chopin Mazurkas offered seemed so very tired; the lovely one in A minor was like a dried rose—able to be appreciated, but as a shadow of what it could have been. The ubiquitous Scott Joplin was certainly a great deal of fun, but Heath's showmanship and affable takes to the audience were much more memorable than the music. At this point in the program, however, such an about-face in style guaranteed success.<br />
<br />
Two encore numbers, Brahms' "Intermezzo," and Rachmaninof's "Prelude in G-sharp Minor", rounded off the evening in a romantic vein, both stylistically in middle-ground.<br />
<br />
Heath founded the department of music at Fairfield University, and although he has toured extensively, he is a familiar and welcome sight at home in Fairfield County.</div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-75312361672309477182018-09-18T10:08:00.001-07:002018-09-18T10:33:45.122-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<center>
<br /><center>
</center>
</center>
<h3>
<center>
<center>
My Two Cents Worth on</center>
</center>
</h3>
<h2>
<center>
<center>
The Threepenny Opera</center>
</center>
</h2>
<h4 style="text-align: left;">
<center>
<center>
Program notes for a production of Die Dreigroschenoper presented at Hunter College by Il Piccolo Teatro dell'Opera</center>
</center>
<center>
<center>
by John Mucci</center>
</center>
</h4>
<center style="text-align: left;">
On the seismograph of world theatrical events, the appearance of <i>Die Dreigroschenoper</i> in 1928 created a spike of unexpected force. Because it addressed poverty and justice from such a refreshingly slanted perspective, graced with some of the most captivating and energizing music of its day, its influence spread immediately.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<center style="text-align: left;">
<center style="text-align: left;">
Because of the Nazi's insistence on considering it 'degenerate art' and its subsequent suppression in the '30's and '40's, some mystery was cast about it, and because of the explosive 1956 revival from the Theatre de Lys, with Lotte Lenya in the role of Jenny, <i>The Threepenny Opera</i> has not left the purview of the world's repertoire of musical theatre.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<br />
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
So many stones have been overturned writing about the genesis of this extraordinary work, that one walks on a peculiarly trammeled beach, searching not only for new teritory, but trying to assess what the terrain looked like before. There looms large the two dynamos who created it, Kurt Weill, the composer, and Bertolt Brecht, the author. One had best leave it at that, before we hear stories about Brecht's magpie-like borrowings from divergent sources such as François Villon, Rudyard Kipling, and Brecht's brilliant assitant, Elisabeth Hauptmann, who made a translation of John Gay's original, 18th century play, <i>The Beggar's Opera</i>. Worse yet, we hear rumors that it was Brecht who wrote the music (borrowing tunes, also), and Weill only transcribed it—which is certainly not true. The effect is one which leads to a feeling that creating this masterpiece was as chaotic as the tottering Weimar Republic under which its creators worked. The creation of <i>Threepenny Opera </i>sprang from an amalgam of talents, smelted white-hot into whatever mold seemed appropriate, and as in the best of collaborations, left a mass of contradictions in its wake. Audiences have proved the indominability of the work as it is. The rest is infinite subtlety, to be savored by those who are further entertained by research.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<br />
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
One sure sign that it is a work for all time is that no one seems to leave it alone. During the authors' lifetimes, changes and little addaptations abounded. Even Weill, who was so opposed to updating either score or text, wrote new numbers for the Paris production, to be sung by Yvette Guilbert, in a style which was wholly appropriate only to a production in France. As in all good theatre, each country makes the piece its own, in this case down to the title. The English <i>Threepenny Opera</i> is an honest downgrade from the German (where it is, after all, not <i>Die Dreipfennigoper</i>— 1 Groschen = 10 Pfennigs), but in France it is known as the <i>Opéra de Quat'sous</i>, and in Mexico of dos centavos, and Italy, tre soldi. </center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6OMc96DO0vs_kdBQ9YbUe1NE2elrKgBpsLkWReAV7WEYmy8CCyle5528DZKeRDCVtMVNQpFohKbvqoqhD2jTZWY3pEBcBuhYP81XyEwrWUJQEQojagsJiSQ-A9i-IH86RmUg5wVuFGU/s1600/mark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="403" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6OMc96DO0vs_kdBQ9YbUe1NE2elrKgBpsLkWReAV7WEYmy8CCyle5528DZKeRDCVtMVNQpFohKbvqoqhD2jTZWY3pEBcBuhYP81XyEwrWUJQEQojagsJiSQ-A9i-IH86RmUg5wVuFGU/s200/mark.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Written at a time when Germans were just recovering from a Mark so inflated that bushels of them were baled and never untied, carried in barrows to make simple transactions; when butter was the most stable measure of value, and when the postal authorities surprinted stamps again and again into the billions of Marks to keep up with an economy completely out of control— this Beggar's Opera was indeed thoughtful entertainment for the modern Everyman. Brecht said that it 'dealt with bourgeois conceptions in a bourgeois manner', and it certainly at once is an indictment of modern life and a celebration of its common experiences.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXRyH_CkU6bxtujI_j2AH43tywm4iEnYnPTFwS07xZD4URc5Q8CHmmkJ6QeJsBrlbDxyQfjpimScOIbxxWijjv1IP8h2tPFbLB8zSlwiuuxsJJveAC6cXGsOLBA6K5_j1q2DH530UwLQ/s1600/BRM_BMAG_1985_P47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="1200" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXRyH_CkU6bxtujI_j2AH43tywm4iEnYnPTFwS07xZD4URc5Q8CHmmkJ6QeJsBrlbDxyQfjpimScOIbxxWijjv1IP8h2tPFbLB8zSlwiuuxsJJveAC6cXGsOLBA6K5_j1q2DH530UwLQ/s200/BRM_BMAG_1985_P47.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A scene from <i>The Beggar's Opera</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<center style="text-align: left;">
The history of The Threepenny Opera is that it began as a parody of Handel, when John Gay and Johann Pepusch wrote <i>The Beggar's Opera </i>in 1728. It was enormously popular, and proved to be so even up to the early 1920's when it was revived in London. It was this production which piqued the curiosity of Elisabeth Hauptmann, who translated it and showed it to Brecht, who in turn noodled with it a while. When a young producer approached Brecht for a new piece to re-open the old Schiffbauerdamm Theater in Berlin, the author impulsively offerd his half-hearted sketches derived from Gay—which were accepted, to his surprise. Quickly finished, and re-worked up to the last minute, <i>Die Dreigroschenoper </i>was predicted to be a flop on opening night, until apparently the audience caught the spirit of the piece during the "Cannon Song" and enthusiastically hailed it a hit, starting what was eventually known as "Threepenny Fever" all over Germany and Europe at large.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
The story of the Opera is as brilliant as it is simple. J.J. Peachum operates a coalition of beggars as efficiently as though he were organizing a union. He gives them costumes, makeup, prosthetics, full corporate support in exchange for fealty. He heads an otherwise commonplace bourgeois family, with his wife and his daughter, Polly. Apposite to him is the dapper, notorious gang leader Macheath, known as Mack the Knife, who, having his eye on Polly, "marries" her. Enraged at his daughter's submission, Peachum wants Macheath arrested, and engages Police Chief Tiger Brown to do so, although Macheath and Brown are old army buddies.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Macheath is indeed arrested, being found at his usual time in the usual brothel. He escapes from jail, is re-arrested (same time, same brothel), and is only saved from hanging through a purposefully absurd reprieve from the Queen— which might well satisfy a beggar's idea of a happy ending, since so few beggars lives could end up so happily in reality.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Although Weill's musical forms in The Threepenny Opera are varied—chorale, tango, fugue, foxtrot, the "Boston," a shimmy, and a hymn—its melodies engage both heart and brain, where nothing is as simple as it sounds, and where the musical complexities break down to very simple elements, conceived and arranged by a master of composition.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
There is no string section in the orchestra: this is an opera accompanied by a jazz band. Perhaps Krenek's <i>Johnny Spielt Auf</i> was an earlier Jazz Opera, but I think Weill's is probably the first musical play to use both a bandoneon and a banjo seriously, a fact opening night critics pounced upon, some with enthusiasm, some with acrimony.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Although the play and lyrics have the trademark borrowings that Brecht loved, it is full of idiosyncratic poetry and original touches. It is probably the only opera which makes a statement about character through <i>rhyme scheme</i>. Listen for Macheath's ballads (the words of which are derived from Villon), the lines having the rhymes <i>a-b-b-a.</i> In Michael Finegold's translation:</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<blockquote style="text-align: -webkit-center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<center style="text-align: left;">
"The daring ones who go on great adventures</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
And risk their necks fulfilling dreams of glory—</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Then gladly tell the waiting world the story</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
So stay-at-homes can sigh and suck their dentures?"</center>
</blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
To displace the initial rhyme for three lines is not a usual scheme for songs in general—nonetheless a "shimmy." Yet, when the <i>a-b-b-a</i> rhymes appear again, as Macheath faces the gallows, his former jazzy paean to life is transformed into a dirge and the cynical outlook on his demise:</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote style="text-align: -webkit-center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<center style="text-align: left;">
"And do not curse me, as you see me swinging,</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Or hate me, like the judge, as a disgrace—</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Not every man can plead a decent case;</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Forgive the life to which you see me clinging."</center>
</blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
</blockquote>
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
It is a collaborative touch which never was heard quite like that before, and never fails to move the listener today. Perhaps "Mack the Knife" has been heard too much lately: recently it was assessed by a travel magazine as the lounge song that all singers must learn, because everyone in the audience knows the melody—even though the author averred no one remembers the words. Weill said the principal melody for it came to him while listening to the traffic of Berlin from atop a double decker bus. It's been heard in every reincarnation from Bobby Darrin to the commercials for Big Macs on television, making it a musical icon, and as such dilutes its purpose when heard in context, but it does not diminish the power of the score, as a whole.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
One of the most haunting Brecht/Weill numbers, the quintessential "Pirate Jenny," is also one with an odd history. In the context of the play, this song, with its imagery of washing glasses and being a mistress to a bloodthirsty pirate—seems out of place. In the original production, it was meant to be sung at the wedding, by Polly, but was taken over by Lotte Lenya, and sung in the bordello scene. It helped to catapult her to world fame as a chanteuse, but caused endless conflicts with the script. In neither position in the story does it illuminate the plot: it certainly alienates the audience in the manner Brecht advocated. "Pirate Jenny" is, at heart, an expression of power—fulfilled only in fantasy—by one who feels utterly powerless. It is a song which likely adumbrated the helpless feelings of just about everyone sitting in the Schiffbauerdamm theatre in 1928. At that time, there was no team better suited to express such a dichotomy. </center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
And if the other Brecht/Weill works did not quite make the same impact (there were six other collaborations, plus individual songs)— we can only attribute that to an audience now accustomed to their style, rather than being goaded from pain and complacency with such ideas as:</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
<br /></center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<center style="text-align: left;">
"Be careful how you punish wrong, for surely</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Cold-hearted deeds will freeze and die away.</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
Remember that our life on earth is purely</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
A cold dark place where sorrow cries all day."</center>
</blockquote>
<br />
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
</center>
<center style="text-align: left;">
—sung at the end of this parody of sadness and madness.</center>
<center>
</center>
<center>
</center>
<table border="0" cellpadding="7" style="color: black;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="font-family: GARAMOND;" width="17%"><br /></td><td style="font-family: GARAMOND;" width="60%"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</center>
</div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-69688099634683269442018-01-22T10:43:00.000-08:002018-01-22T11:58:40.433-08:00Heinrich Marschner and his Vampyre <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<center>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw13b-nkA4RfCl1aKYEKd8_oYf0JyT-TA2veHW7aoZY2UVm_Hz-s6FjcDt4My_RMDnNc1b0IAsj2H4j3cAY72xRrbobQP6rQ9k6if5FAcHoT1dNqOeGrUggVnaHcS3Dr49BhvRc8rrvXE/s1600/vampyr1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="336" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw13b-nkA4RfCl1aKYEKd8_oYf0JyT-TA2veHW7aoZY2UVm_Hz-s6FjcDt4My_RMDnNc1b0IAsj2H4j3cAY72xRrbobQP6rQ9k6if5FAcHoT1dNqOeGrUggVnaHcS3Dr49BhvRc8rrvXE/s320/vampyr1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
</center>
<i>(program notes for the Lyric Opera of Los Angeles)</i><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Heinrich Marschner</b> had the unfortunate luck to have his career fall between those of Weber and Wagner. While his star ascended and his music became popular for a while, it took time to cast off the influence of <i>Die Freischütz</i>, and he was quickly overshadowed by the juggernaut of <i>Tannhäuser</i>, <i>Lohengrin</i>, and all the gods of Valhalla. So it is difficult for us today to recreate the <i>milieu</i> in which Marschner offered his works to the world, including 23 operas and music dramas.<br />
<br />
Born in Zittau in 1795, Marschner studied under several music masters, and in several cities including Vienna. There, he hoped to study with Beethoven, who ended up slightly discouraging him. By way of Brastislava he eventually settled in Dresden, and as a Kapellmeister developed his interest in opera sufficiently to write six of them—and the last of these is his Opus 67: so he was no slacker in creative output.<br />
<br />
Each of these needed to pass muster with the director of the Dresden Opera, who was no less than Carl Maria von Weber, with whom Marschner perceived a growing animosity. When Weber died, his position—which should have logically fallen to Marschner, did not. The disgruntled composer took off for Berlin, then peripatetically to Danzig, then Leipzig.<br />
<br />
Marschner was 32 years old, and had been twice married (and twice a widower) by this time, and was bitterly disappointed at losing Weber's post at Dresden. A period of melancholy settled on him, and during a gloomy walk through the Kirchhofe in Madgeburg, he conceived the Gothic idea of writing a "witches' chorus". In this frame of mind he was well disposed to consider the even gloomier libretto of <i>Der Vampyr</i> that his brother-in-law, W. A. Wohlbrück wrote for him in 1827. Vampire tales were particularly in vogue at this time throughout England, France, and Germany, thanks to—believe it or not!—<i>Frankenstein</i> (the novel).<br />
<br />
<b>The Gothic Story Challenge</b><br />
Recall that it was written by Mary Wollstonecraft in 1816, as a kind of lark during a rainy summer spent in Switzerland with her future husband Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron. It was Byron who suggested that since they were all sequestered by the weather they should write spooky stories, and they all did; but only Mary's creation emerged fully formed as her Gothic novel. Lord Byron had sketched out a few ideas about a vampire, a dead man who could rise back to the living through the use of moonlight and drinking blood from the living. Never completed as a story, Byron abandoned it at the end of their stay. But there are several other elements of this famous rainy Swiss vacation that aren't usually told.<br />
<br />
One is that the trio was accompanied by Claire, Mary's half-sister, who was carrying Byron's child, and a young man who was Byron's "personal physician," Dr. John Polidori. One only has to add that Shelley's pregnant wife Harriet committed suicide soon thereafter, and that Shelley was romantically involved with Claire before he married Mary to understand that these enormously passionate and extravagant people led lives that weren't so very far off from the exuberant characters that they depicted in their writings. They were members of the top level of society, but their personal lives were among the most shocking and scandalous of the times. <i>Frankenstein</i> went on to be a sensation when it was published in 1818, leading the way to the Gothic horror tales that blazed through Europe.<br />
<br />
<b>The Mysterious Doctor Polidori</b><br />
Capitalizing on this fantastic wave, Dr. Polidori, who had ambitions to be a writer as well, acquired the fragment of the vampire story from Byron (there were hints that the two were passionate about one another) and finished it in his own manner, publishing it anonymously in the <i>New Monthly Magazine</i> in 1819, simply as "The Vampyre," stating honestly that it was "of a fragment from Lord Byron." Readers assumed that Byron had written it (we are not sure to what extent Polidori abetted this notion, but he later said "I beg leave to state that your correspondent has been mistaken in attributing that tale in its present form to Lord Byron. The fact is that though the groundwork is certainly Lord Byron's, its development is mine"). Nonetheless, Byron's name became associated with the development of the taste for the Gothic and horror-romance. It became fashionable to construct "follies" on ones estate to resemble ruined castles or broken battlements to lend an air of chilly menace to the landscape.<br />
<br />
Both the original Byron fragment and Polidori's re-working of the tale are extant (see <a href="http://www.praxxis.co.uk/credebyron/fragment.htm">Byron's</a> and <a href="http://www.sff.net/people/DoyleMacdonald/l_vampyr.htm">Polidori's</a> here). There is very little similar between them. What is of interest to us in all this is that Polidori's tale concerns the vampire Lord Ruthven, a member of the aristocracy. He is urbane and cruel, and does not yet possess those weaknesses of mirrors and garlic that we associate with Dracula (they are reserved for the next incarnation, through author Bram Stoker). While previous tales of bloodsucking creatures were peasant stories, this was a clever and subtle shift, made more horrible because it concerned the ruling class <i>gone amok</i>. The byword of Polidori's story, and it informs all the variants of story/novel/opera, is Ruthven's repeated admonition, like a knell, to his friend Aubry, "Remember your oath!" —that is, not to betray him as the vampire. <i>Giving one's Word</i>—the sacred honor of the upper class was being used to cause its own destruction. In the story, Aubry keeps to his word: he and everyone around him dies, fallen victim to the vampire (rather like a Hammer Films version of <i>The Pirates of Penzance, or the Slave of Duty</i>).<br />
<br />
It is not too wide a stretch to think of the horrible goings-on in <i>The Vampyre</i> as emblematic of the equally shocking lives he aristocracy were leading, and it thus becomes a subversive commentary that Polildori achieved, whether unconsciously or not. While his short story was expanded by others and adapted several times as a play, going on to thrill France and Germany, Polidori himself did not achieve much success, and for whatever reason committed suicide in 1821.<br />
<br />
<b>The Play</b><br />
L<i>e Vampire</i> (in French) was the play that Wohlbrück showed to Marschner, after he wrote his melancholy witches' chorus. The 1820's were a ferment of fantasy and rebellion against the formalists in the Romantic Movement. This was not only the time of Beethoven's great Ninth Symphony, but hot on its heels was Berlioz' iconoclastic <i>Symphonie Fantastique</i>, itself inspired by Mendelssohn's choral work <i>Die Erste</i> <i>Walpurgisnacht</i>, based on Goethe's <i>Faust</i>. In Germany, Goethe had enlarged his masterwork to epic dimensions, and Ludwig Spohr's opera based on it established some of the musical conventions to depict Gothic horror, demons and witches.<br />
<br />
Weber's operatic fantasies did much of the same thing, but in a gentler way; it was up to Marschner to take the musical vocabulary of Mendelssohn, Berlioz, Spohr, and Weber, and forge it into something even more remarkable. While Mozart sent Don Giovanni to hell on a shower of downward sliding notes, it's nothing compared to the shrieking piccolos and <i>col'legno</i> strings in Berlioz' witches' Sabbath. It was a musical vocabulary that had never been heard before.<br />
<br />
The contrast of an established world-order thrown into panic and disarray is effectively depicted in Marschner's <i>Der Vampyr</i> by juxtaposing the more formal, idyllic music of Weber, with the more torn and bruised chromatic fantasy of Berlioz. Whereas Berlioz creates tension and throws the lister off-base by creating melodies with tiny intervals almost sliding up and down as though being in a swoon (what we call <i>chromaticism</i>), in <i>Der Vampyr</i> most of those small intervals progress only <i>downward</i>. It is a depressing, thoroughly black, demoralizing way of signifying the evil dead dragging the living into hell. The wordless scene in which Ruthven is revived by the exposure to moonlight is extraordinary, as his condition is revealed only in such music.<br />
<br />
<center>
<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5VoffhOlkzQBp7Zk-Aa7t8JvOfybFYdeHQxvKJqWHYLObhACgx0F5i-EXboSC-xmJ7Qhzajpn8nmIMGieSgWGXlxYHCsRSOEYNuubZu01d8oIRgPiypdG_xlmY4IEekRi7hNe3AlBes/s1600/act1_r6_ds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="226" data-original-width="150" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5VoffhOlkzQBp7Zk-Aa7t8JvOfybFYdeHQxvKJqWHYLObhACgx0F5i-EXboSC-xmJ7Qhzajpn8nmIMGieSgWGXlxYHCsRSOEYNuubZu01d8oIRgPiypdG_xlmY4IEekRi7hNe3AlBes/s400/act1_r6_ds.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />Ruthven under the influence of the moon.<br />
<br />
</center>
<b>The Oath</b><br />
D<i>er Vampyr</i> hinges on Aubry's dilemma of whether to break his oath to Ruthven. Only in the opera (and play it is based on), Aubry realizes they all will die if he does not rat on his friend, and exposes him as a vampire at his wedding. Worse things might happen at weddings these days, but in this case Lord Ruthven is dragged into hell to the accompaniement of just such chromatic passages. True love has triumphed over the old aristocratic order and the sacred bond of an ill-conceived oath.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1M_ooSCEDXZNFFxPYk_kkumEeWpdueH8bZOkX8kYSaC-yZCrlBLujW0YpylgD6N4H3RMCmAWtbaRRwltXwMIDno88BKXAFWK5jT7BTeyFONqmBXpawCQ-2PYmnOUgq684NB4CltchgM/s1600/act2_ad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="142" data-original-width="200" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1M_ooSCEDXZNFFxPYk_kkumEeWpdueH8bZOkX8kYSaC-yZCrlBLujW0YpylgD6N4H3RMCmAWtbaRRwltXwMIDno88BKXAFWK5jT7BTeyFONqmBXpawCQ-2PYmnOUgq684NB4CltchgM/s320/act2_ad.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<center>
<br />Aubry denouncing his former friend.<br />
</center>
<br />
Marschner displays considerable talent in creating a musical impetus that is like wild horses running off, impelled by fate, or an overarching Evil. Listen to the opening notes of the Overture; they have been described as the devil knocking. Listen for the stately, formal arias suddenly interrupted by the brassy and overweening bass of Lord Ruthven, insisting on his new order of chaos. His evil is dashed at the end, out-doing Don Giovanni's or Faust's exit to Hades. It is an opera built of shocking contrasts, and is as fresh and accessible today as when it was written.<br />
<br />
While a rival opera of the same name was produced shortly after Marschner's <i>Vampyr</i>, it was thoroughly entrenched in the manner of Spohr and did not hold the public's imagination, while Marschner's work played all over Europe. Marschner went on to write many other operas, including the first based on Sir Walter Scott's <i>Ivanhoe </i>(preceding Rossini's version), and for many years he was the sole voice of German operatic expression. His three best known works were edited and emended by Wagner (including an additional aria in <i>Der Vampyr</i>), and they were revised by Hans Pfitzner in the 1920's, but Marschner's vision and innate talent shine through.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
If you have never before heard the music of Heinrich Marschner, settle in for a pleasant—and tonight, shocking—surprise. Here is a sample of a production from the second act. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Zr-bAwmWSBM" width="560"></iframe><br /></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-64748755573955066872015-06-02T13:35:00.002-07:002018-01-22T10:47:25.511-08:00Refice, and Hidden Verismo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDC7UzNIu4LaLfxo79NydnJpknCU6X2IZDZ-kPW1CsdNYxqdiePt6bZNurs8g2PIZXY-z56y2BddR5WWFRXjGYsuiuEMZ7SgHmLcQPeMJ3nuxBAiJqp0MTOUo2P6y0rUUcQqselFo0Bqo/s1600/Marghe1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDC7UzNIu4LaLfxo79NydnJpknCU6X2IZDZ-kPW1CsdNYxqdiePt6bZNurs8g2PIZXY-z56y2BddR5WWFRXjGYsuiuEMZ7SgHmLcQPeMJ3nuxBAiJqp0MTOUo2P6y0rUUcQqselFo0Bqo/s640/Marghe1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The premiere of <em>Margherita da Cortona,</em>at La Scala in 1938 </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPV_Dpw4Ud0p8wV6lPWJoezP-FLor4YG4FvFbDRuv7hkJ8LtCWW5nfVVUqx7vtGF-LoHmfh-Fzt-CCTyWTCu8x0kQzYxZ_VuBxQ0tHelEcmUQyyMN4oo3EJljuxqOiwVLpkL2_926_eeM/s1600/Refice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPV_Dpw4Ud0p8wV6lPWJoezP-FLor4YG4FvFbDRuv7hkJ8LtCWW5nfVVUqx7vtGF-LoHmfh-Fzt-CCTyWTCu8x0kQzYxZ_VuBxQ0tHelEcmUQyyMN4oo3EJljuxqOiwVLpkL2_926_eeM/s200/Refice.jpg" width="126" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Licino Refice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Refice. Not a name we normally associate with Verismo, or even Italian opera, except for the most ardent operaphiles of the most exacting taste. Licino Refice was born in 1883 and died in 1954, and being not only a composer, but a priest, wrote more than 30 masses and other sacred works. A song, "Ombra di Nube," was considered a classic at the time, and was recorded by the woman for whom he wrote it, Claudia Muzio. Lyrics were by Emidio Mucci, to whom I assume I am related, as all Muccis seem to come from the Abruzzi (even though he was born in Rome). <br />
<br />
An opera, <em>Cecilia</em>, was produced in 1934, and made quite a splash at the time. It was being revived in Rio di Janiero in 1954, when Refice died during one of the first rehearsals. The opera that interests me more, however, is <em>Margherita da Cortona, </em>which premiered at La Scala in 1938 -- not a great year for Italian opera, and not a great year for Italy, but a late-flowering of some wonderful works, and revival of others. Margherita was played by Claudia Muzio at the première, (and Mucci wrote the libretto, <em>mirabile dictu).</em><br />
<P><P>
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Eex60nQ4PrI" frameborder="0" allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-37200743111001582292011-12-18T17:03:00.000-08:002019-03-01T20:08:33.681-08:00A Clockwork Cabret<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Speaking of Howard Shore, he has abandoned opera for scoring films again, which I suppose is a good thing; in <i>Hugo</i>, Martin Scorcese's preening look at early cinema via the graphic novel <i>The Invention of Hugo Cabret</i> the music certainly impels the viewer to follow the action up and down ladders, into various alcoves and chambers almost all of which look like OSHA nightmares, with open gears whirling, flywheels spinning, ratchets ratcheting. This makes for exciting visuals that constantly threaten; the gears don't seem to have any teeth. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiM-V31_Oxsyr4ufUeTbPIyq_BIzk05Obew2oeBmvnI874MVpYl3QVDo0i6oM_7aQ2ppGoeIbQ3H260we9QsdaNwBl5BLe50p0AolxjkcSLpkjW69dBfRDcJIi7S6wKQQua_6bvgEqOA/s1600/hugo-gears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiM-V31_Oxsyr4ufUeTbPIyq_BIzk05Obew2oeBmvnI874MVpYl3QVDo0i6oM_7aQ2ppGoeIbQ3H260we9QsdaNwBl5BLe50p0AolxjkcSLpkjW69dBfRDcJIi7S6wKQQua_6bvgEqOA/s400/hugo-gears.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
It was a Chekhov maxim that if you show a gun on the mantel in Act I, it had better go off before Act III ends. Perhaps it is a perverse streak in me that wanted to see someone's coat get caught in the works, or at least the threat of it. Why make such threatening machinery? While this is an engaging fairy-tale, the dangers in the film consistently are only implied, which made it somewhat of a cool relationship with the audience. <br />
The quasi-villain, Gustav, is played by Sasha Baron Cohen for both laughs and terror, neither of which seems to come off well. He is initially seen chasing Hugo, which we gather is rather like chasing the white whale for him; like Javert, he is obsessed with catching the young boy who lives above the train station in the clockworks. We see that he has a knee that is assisted by a metal hinged frame, making him somewhat of a clockwork man himself. In the first chase through the train station he thrusts aside the waiting passengers and luggage-handlers, the street musicians and cafe-denizens. It's an ugly scene that isn't funny in the least, and cannot be taken seriously. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjivNWeWbsQ0ibtHqzL1D5ufPOivc2sLoBc7OGApyOXfjCFEisd32FtlVPdKQH9fhHOZYwnSMQCYsYf7ehj-vddL_jw5LiMQagtw8dKqiplTVu3-Bfs7fAKeHrkXPQsES2eGcK8z2Rb00/s1600/hugo-still10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjivNWeWbsQ0ibtHqzL1D5ufPOivc2sLoBc7OGApyOXfjCFEisd32FtlVPdKQH9fhHOZYwnSMQCYsYf7ehj-vddL_jw5LiMQagtw8dKqiplTVu3-Bfs7fAKeHrkXPQsES2eGcK8z2Rb00/s400/hugo-still10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
He is always accompanied by a real bete-noir, a Doberman Pinscher and is always threatening Hugo with the Orphanage. Then his leg brace is suddenly caught by a protruding step on the train and is dragged on his back, off-screen. Immediate confusion in the audience. Is this farce? Drama? A Cartoon? A Borat out-take? In all this woolly world of a 30's Paris <i>Gare</i>, doesn't he have anything better to do? Then -- in one later scene, we see him climbing up the wall on a very strange-looking ladder (again, an OSHA nightmare). Why? Where is he going? By this time the audience has given up trying to understand what he is doing.<br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlYIgM9Wn8symSqG36u9OKv4PlM4_9pylZiphdDh4TjnYHJMrY02PP90rkk5YJ-IlcSAJNGlIquYsKHnQ-P_BZUlAZcKgKUcCq3RKmYXcii9USzLhi0PgY3dn8pebP4LJ5wBvfd1f5mnc/s1600/sacha-baron-cohen-hugo-a-box-office-smash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlYIgM9Wn8symSqG36u9OKv4PlM4_9pylZiphdDh4TjnYHJMrY02PP90rkk5YJ-IlcSAJNGlIquYsKHnQ-P_BZUlAZcKgKUcCq3RKmYXcii9USzLhi0PgY3dn8pebP4LJ5wBvfd1f5mnc/s400/sacha-baron-cohen-hugo-a-box-office-smash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Throughout the film, Gustav keeps reeling from being the villain to the comic relief, to a sorry foil, back to the villain again, which is awfully tedious. (<a href="http://www.theprodigalguide.com/2011/12/07/hugo-let-down-by-sacha-baron-cohen/">I am not the only one who thinks so.</a>)</div>
<div>
<br />
And while I love Georges Méliès, somehow I feel that the veneration the film shows him is a one-trick pony. We keep coming back to the Man in the Moon shot from his <i>Voyage dans la Lune</i>, which I've always found disturbing by any account; yet to see it over and over says to me that Mr. Scorcese doesn't know as much as he thinks he does about it. (Maybe he does, but thinks that the audience can't take much more than this tiny slice of Méliès's output.)
I did love enormously the flashback sequence that Méliès narrates, about his career, much of which is perfectly true and was heartstoppingly wonderful to see re-enacted--and the perfectly matted-in shot of Mme. Méliès in the final shot.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3Fm-tk6FWVDrzTi7bRDl9jAaw9O5tA2ZXIMSuJdyZp-ucQVQVdTBOZJzFKRv-eEPYgYe-kivH8MbrEvajKq7buOuo_lxII1LaiWoid3CfxDfZo4WvndqP3JqzUK5Xqzpr40AWfex4J8/s1600/handtinted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3Fm-tk6FWVDrzTi7bRDl9jAaw9O5tA2ZXIMSuJdyZp-ucQVQVdTBOZJzFKRv-eEPYgYe-kivH8MbrEvajKq7buOuo_lxII1LaiWoid3CfxDfZo4WvndqP3JqzUK5Xqzpr40AWfex4J8/s400/handtinted.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
But doing research at the "Film Library" in Paris ? Had M. Langlois knew of this, I am sure it would have warmed his heart. This little library looks larger than the Library of Congress. And in 1932 or so, how much film history would there have been?
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Z_atkth2K-Ot-3yOOdBLfNLVmXzsmfo1DOo8skVs7AuyK0eAG0hysX3D9-NDkz_sGzF4IhFSJ7YytqKJpCYHoJI_6DwzI-mZ7texQr5_912l5ZzufpgJR1p0pOIiS8OUfyqaRsXczeE/s1600/hugo-library.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Z_atkth2K-Ot-3yOOdBLfNLVmXzsmfo1DOo8skVs7AuyK0eAG0hysX3D9-NDkz_sGzF4IhFSJ7YytqKJpCYHoJI_6DwzI-mZ7texQr5_912l5ZzufpgJR1p0pOIiS8OUfyqaRsXczeE/s400/hugo-library.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Fantasies about film are among the most rarified of self-gratifying daydreams; I think Mr. Scorcese may have different ideas as to what his audience wants to see--and I am not sure they know much on the subject of early French silent films, either. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/t2zfxKXbLlQ" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-16972815913865475632011-09-07T08:36:00.000-07:002011-09-07T15:11:39.438-07:00The Leap from Mimi to MinnieThe excitement of seeing Puccini's <I>La Fanciulla del West</I> staged by the Met (which commissioned it a hundred years ago), lies in not only buying in, but <I>revelling</I> in the melodramatic structure devised by David Belasco. The rough-and-tumble miners out in California of the 1850's are by turns are buddies, adversaries, sentimentalists longing for their mom and dog back home, and rough justice administrators, ready to shoot or string up someone who irritates them. Belasco was the king of sentimental melodrama (witness his "Madame Butterfly" pre<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbsj7oRwHYwP56CDHkCQFX9OfCIa1pVNStbZ7-MuObaRSBhgdElVpHMokElNpPGcT4GACsust-8L6GkaFT8NDGPlcl3Xm3edfK1dMZVVAuUV6rsZFYROWsWJANy44eVVeCNN9jlyIeiQ/s1600/fanciulla_1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbsj7oRwHYwP56CDHkCQFX9OfCIa1pVNStbZ7-MuObaRSBhgdElVpHMokElNpPGcT4GACsust-8L6GkaFT8NDGPlcl3Xm3edfK1dMZVVAuUV6rsZFYROWsWJANy44eVVeCNN9jlyIeiQ/s400/fanciulla_1.jpeg" /></a></div>
viously, and the operatic outcome of that one); known as the 'Bishop of Broadway," wearing a clerical collar for no ecclesiastical reason, he was full of contradictions himself (he may have invented what we'd call today 'the casting couch'). <br /><br />And deftly sitting in the midst of these contradictions, Maestro Puccini has written the horse-opera of all time. <br /><br />The problem with this opera, of course, is the Italian aesthetic viewing American culture. Later on, it would improve to give us the 'spaghetti western' -- which was still odd, but more understandable to an American audience. But back in 1911, Europe (as well as other cultures) admired the rough-and-tumble reports of what the Wild West was like, and fueled by the nascent cinema, saw the cowboy as a heroic figure, a stock in trade character, built-in for melodrama, with its outsider come to town, showdown with the opposing force, with wide open spaces, and the idea that one could <I>claim</I> something and have it be yours. You could stake a claim on a silver mine, or claim a woman as long as you could prove that you could hold on to her. Whether or not this reflects reality of the time is up for debate, but something makes up myths that are forged from grains of truth. <P>
It was Jean Cocteau who so loved American Westerns in the cinema that he wrote a long, poetic review of "The Narrow Trail (1917)" that baffled Americans; not only was the Western trope being taken seriously but taken to be <I> Art </I>. So when Puccini's long cantilenas of operatic fervor wrapped around a homely tale of a girl with a heart of gold it truly was an example of cognitive dissonance that fights itself to work on the stage. John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-21941923958464788802010-10-28T10:40:00.000-07:002010-10-29T12:02:11.492-07:00This Fly Really Eats $#*tIt cannot be easy to write a full-evening's length opera under any circumstances. Unless you are another Donizetti, who was so prolific that he was accused of composing with both hands simultaneously, it is a grueling, torturous, mind-bending effort to combine thrilling drama, spectacle, and stirring music, committing it to paper. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGUTijt7G0HKYI4w3hLqAcXz0h900e9xCtzCyuts0D60luUUH_kWE8TTMGp7RJm2jNF0F3SzHnqhZVsZOqDWFjixhYV7OsqVaHkVqckZYGwU9A93u6BFi4ImqBk8vBiaIBr2N5mVNH-s/s1600/DonizettiCartoon.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:1 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGUTijt7G0HKYI4w3hLqAcXz0h900e9xCtzCyuts0D60luUUH_kWE8TTMGp7RJm2jNF0F3SzHnqhZVsZOqDWFjixhYV7OsqVaHkVqckZYGwU9A93u6BFi4ImqBk8vBiaIBr2N5mVNH-s/s320/DonizettiCartoon.jpg" border="1" alt="Donizetti composing with both hands"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533154470364893890" /></a><br />Once that is done, of course, the work is then subjected to production, budgets, singers and actors, dancers, chorus members, set designers, rehearsals, tryouts, rewrites, tantrums from every corner, a conductor and the weather during the performance, not to forget tailoring the length to fit the schedule of "when the last train leaves."<br /><br />So when I say I dislike Howard Shore's opera <I>The Fly</I>, it is not with a flippant sense of "Next!" to push it aside. It might have been a thrilling work, but fell short on so many counts that I cannot believe someone didn't come up to him -- maybe the conductor Plácido Domingo? -- and say, "hey, Howard, this really sucks. Can't you put a little fire under it?" Thus, despite the beautiful sets and props, the best effort singing by a competent cast, and even the presence of bass-baritone Daniel Okulitch's vulnerable nudity on the stage, the work didn't hit the mark.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1i4Im9E8obE1ozE_H6U6JWy9W4fRHhqBmbhZcYD30Zg6wvpWmcB_PScZXYBMYP_jrZAkY0AY6g4GtJ5Z0BqnRAf_CictgroumLsOGpdEN7790Z0qb6p4MyXr1WU31evSm_MxtbetuP4/s1600/untitledw.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 219px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1i4Im9E8obE1ozE_H6U6JWy9W4fRHhqBmbhZcYD30Zg6wvpWmcB_PScZXYBMYP_jrZAkY0AY6g4GtJ5Z0BqnRAf_CictgroumLsOGpdEN7790Z0qb6p4MyXr1WU31evSm_MxtbetuP4/s320/untitledw.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533156300466530978" /></a> Yet I keep returning to that long gestation period, where the composer must look at the libretto (David Henry Hwang's middling effort here) and write something that will catch the ear and engage the auditors. Time after time, the composer has opted not to do so, but to lay under the rather random vocal lines a blanket of semi tonal sounds that move up and down one note or two to keep it moving, never resolving, never starting, never ending, in a kind of perpetual limbo of vague sound. With a bland libretto, bland vocal line and barely perceptible accompaniment, we are about as far from "Di Quella Pira" as we can get (just kidding - I am sure there is much worse offered these days). <br /><br />I would have thought that Halloween would have been a good time to revive the work--but I see no one has, after the Paris premiere and the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/09/arts/music/09fly.html">Los Angeles production</a> soon thereafter.<br /><br />Since I havent' seen the score much less studied it, I can't say how much thematic unity there is in it. I can hear a punchy sequence in the brass that is repeated infrequently that I take is the 'fly' theme. There are at leasst two 'arias' or set pieces that are extended expressions of the characters' point of view (after which there is sustained applause); but neither of those identifiable cues are in any way moving, or used in a way that ties the experience together for the listener. <br /><br />It is a tribute to the singers that they could remember those rambling, barely-logical vocal lines that seemed so random. Of course, had they made an error, no one would know - perhaps not even Mr. Shore.<br /><br /><br />See for yourself.<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KvJPZM2hvjY?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KvJPZM2hvjY?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Truth to tell, the YouTube excerpt culls the very best seconds from the music. I wish it were all as exciting as that! The production looks terrific - something Wagner would have liked; and how it relates to the CD-version of the opera which obviously doesn't tie in the visual, is too much to speculate:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_gcE2mFp0jVxe75Dj_1nz4H1vwFGNOeLz6ItWb6wZAONv1RRpgjyrwlPz2P-hLGZpFMrOjmvbVK0peaSx7c7cgCBPyzMB3sLNqMQS25LFxM7ywy53_sVUS7arNcSOA4RQl87UM53tNI/s1600/the-fly-opera-ruxandra-donose1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS_gcE2mFp0jVxe75Dj_1nz4H1vwFGNOeLz6ItWb6wZAONv1RRpgjyrwlPz2P-hLGZpFMrOjmvbVK0peaSx7c7cgCBPyzMB3sLNqMQS25LFxM7ywy53_sVUS7arNcSOA4RQl87UM53tNI/s400/the-fly-opera-ruxandra-donose1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533163247963040546" /></a> <br /><center>The climactic moment when Veronica sees what a beast her man <I>really</I> is. </center><br /><br />The production got it right, it seems. But to have the Lamberghini of opera companies' chorus intoning one note in octaves for pages on end, and to have the string section noodling over three notes for minutes and minutes on end is the sonic depiction of neurasthenia, and it's tantamount to running that sportscar at 15 miles an hour. <br /><br />I suppose what made the recording worse was the radio interview that is interlarded with the performance (in fact, part of which <a href="http://search.store.yahoo.net/yhst-5204590820466/cgi-bin/nsearch?query=fly&vwcatalog=yhst-5204590820466&.autodone=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.operapassion.com%2F">takes up disc 2 of the set</a>, which you may blamelessly discard or use as a coaster), delivered by two thoroughly uninformed and stultifyingly insipid people. Obviously having nothing to say but the two prepared sentences they have before them, they repeat the same sentences, the same questions, the same idiotic preambles over and over until one is ready to scream. <br /><br />It's a great preparation for the opera itself. To the composer: "Mr Shore, you've said that you didn't use any music from the 1986 film in the opera. Did you?" Shore: "No, I didn't use any music from the film in the opera." "How would you compare the film music to the music in your opera?" Shore: "Well, I haven't really compared them." Oh, God. this goes on for half-hours at a time. I am surprised that the audience didn't thunderously leave the theater at intermission. Maybe they were expecting more naked people. what a surprise this bedroom scene must have been!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4dhCnszUUxH83lJO3kl2MZeY1JgdPCC8zyjtqqBS75xheP5POGuecXxbnki7fGA_lGdYo-hlo-pYLbgsRfjpvlkRyYwWfWL2_kDOO08PADE0pJUYDbCQPQb6YARHTjWeRsSk78i6LqT4/s1600/LA_Opera_Fly-Review-10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4dhCnszUUxH83lJO3kl2MZeY1JgdPCC8zyjtqqBS75xheP5POGuecXxbnki7fGA_lGdYo-hlo-pYLbgsRfjpvlkRyYwWfWL2_kDOO08PADE0pJUYDbCQPQb6YARHTjWeRsSk78i6LqT4/s400/LA_Opera_Fly-Review-10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533168400789606834" /></a><br /><br />All in all, I admire the spunk of imaginative people to create something new. And indeed, I should not compare <I>The Fly</I> to <I>Le Postillion de Longjumeau</I> or <I>Tosca</I>. People's tastes and appetites change; I simply think Mr. Shore noodled a bit too much around his navel, and forgot the capacity of his audience to stick with the <I>longueurs</I> of his music.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpeVx09IApKVOaYkjaHXZ7KXNuQk-v6Ir56gu09Wv6wA8D1ZCZcrhqJYrCUFE2fVclOkFzaEJCeG7rzhon3P9XgTEl8hEpcuEas7fd98zbKXGrPMFecNbCarm-TocGnwuc0KYbwDms4I/s1600/LA_Opera_Fly-Review-3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpeVx09IApKVOaYkjaHXZ7KXNuQk-v6Ir56gu09Wv6wA8D1ZCZcrhqJYrCUFE2fVclOkFzaEJCeG7rzhon3P9XgTEl8hEpcuEas7fd98zbKXGrPMFecNbCarm-TocGnwuc0KYbwDms4I/s400/LA_Opera_Fly-Review-3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533542513549380082" /></a>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-10608058073232828452010-10-11T07:54:00.000-07:002010-10-14T08:41:10.780-07:00The Wagner JuggernautLogging in at a mere two-and-a-half hours, <I>Das Rheingold</I> is the baby of all Wagner operas. A mere <I>amuse-bouche</I> to whet the fearsome appetites of the audience for the next 18 hours to come, over two years at the Met. Led by the frail-looking James Levine, he is the puppetmaster-behind-the-curtain, operating the powerful Met Opera orchestral machinery, pulling all the strings and pulling out all the stops. On stage, of course, we have Mr. LePage's staging, which handles all the other possible stops to pull, on a 90,000 pound set, even more than Pavarotti and some of his soprani-consorts. <I>Vide:</I><P><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TDUUJzlma74?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TDUUJzlma74?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />It must have been utterly thrilling at the opera-house, to see this all come together (opera can pull it off, despite the celebrated last-minute disappointment of the final effect to work at the premiere--but I'd rather the set stopped than 90,000 pounds of metal crush a Rhinemaiden...). At the theatre, where we sat in rapt anticipation for the opening E-flats, the picture went even flatter:<P><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDnguc3BeTJb3UtefUAmGKNESowf9H3Drv6Do3fiWZEgpCt_YtidxzRJFAYujlqJkM38wmwXPOVHeVX_clKq1BdIiGuUhpLDPn_6Tk3_C_bmhDWjtyuu4yKGmLmIMm2wTscRtVl93HpY/s1600/no_signal.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDnguc3BeTJb3UtefUAmGKNESowf9H3Drv6Do3fiWZEgpCt_YtidxzRJFAYujlqJkM38wmwXPOVHeVX_clKq1BdIiGuUhpLDPn_6Tk3_C_bmhDWjtyuu4yKGmLmIMm2wTscRtVl93HpY/s400/no_signal.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527685110368388530" /></a><br /><br />But no matter; it was the old problem of the sun outshining the satellite signal, and it passed momentarily. The only speeches from the stage were about being sure to hit the head before it all began as there were <B>No intermissions.</B> Of course, going to see a 2-1/2 hour film wouldn't bother anyone, and by all rights, that was what we were going to see.<br /><br />Terrific singing; terrific production, so ultra high-tech that it was nearly a parallel experience: hearing the opera, watching the set. Like a demonic keyboard it twiddled its keys and shifted its planes, sometimes in concert, sometimes a few boards at a time. Using the sorcery of lighting effects and video effects it became its own creature, far more fearsome than anything Wagner ever cooked up. Everyone singing this difficult music also had to contend with being hooked to a cable and having to defy gravity. The challenge of this production was to set it all right on the hairy edge of ludicrousness. Either you buy it or you don't (yes, I know: <I>all</I> theater is--or should be--that way). Singers arrive tobogganing down the set on sleds that seem to be on fire, glowing beneath them like neon chafing dishes. Loge has a pulsating flame beneath him as he walks, and his fingers light up like some loopy PowerRanger. Fricka has a pulsing, glowing brooch like E.T.'s heart, or the Golem's power-pack. And most amusingly, Alberich turns into a Harry-Potterlike skeletal dragon, then a Warner Bros. cartoon toad. Who says Wagner was too serious? After all, Alberich to me always looked like this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAtyIR8_aritgVa8_Jx5BIRYygsw2UQ9iFuuuGCtbfeIbUwyQcB3YsFV2Cyr1U-BD5s8RSXtbZxlRBih7i-iEy6ECrtKJ9iwmPkK2SxzkCHm4fkKQF39J3tb8ic_MCZko-lddxOb9Dvk/s1600/alberich.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 339px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAtyIR8_aritgVa8_Jx5BIRYygsw2UQ9iFuuuGCtbfeIbUwyQcB3YsFV2Cyr1U-BD5s8RSXtbZxlRBih7i-iEy6ECrtKJ9iwmPkK2SxzkCHm4fkKQF39J3tb8ic_MCZko-lddxOb9Dvk/s400/alberich.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526818146004162482" /></a><br /><br />--and somehow, when you see him in dreadlocks and a Naugahyde lace-up bag he looks more like one of those punch-'em down clowns that always bounce back up (which rather sounds like Alberich). I always think concretizing operatic characters is dangerous.<br /><br />But Wagner is doubly dangerous, since this particular work has gripped the fascination of the musical world, and everyone and his Uncle Regie thinks they can make it a better experience than another. <a href="http://www.jmucci.com/critic/sigurdfried.html">Elsewhere I have given my opinion</a> as to what these operas are trying to say, and I am always astounded at the perfection of the orchestration and the beauty of the individual scenes, musically. But the question of pacing, of courting the audience's attention, of introduction and summing up are so scrambled and--how you say in English--<I>looseygoosey</I>--that it gets in the way of my total enjoyment of <I>The Ring</I>, and makes Anna Russell's digest of it all the more attractive. It would never fly in Hollywood. You see, this is a great lesson, auditors, this is what happens when you have a writer-composer-director-conductor who is given "free rein" to create, with no boundaries, no editors, no out-of-town tryouts. I am an active proponent of the One-Evening <I>Ring</I> (see: <I>Sigurd</I>), or maybe a nice two-evening <I>Ring</I>. But we are stuck with what Wagner gave us, and with all his faults it's he they adore. Rather like Wotan and his peek-a-boo locks.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-Bpxmi0LD_4-HfGgjPceSAd5jg_uzM7jDIDn8Gav4ZgRyOov0iytXxcnMuBHeaoFOU25htExBEOuowp0LBsM8FW2y4Qp3UxiXq05Cv6OAE3JadR-L6G2OVY8j_SDXJgbqOBFToQiiQ4/s1600/RING-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-Bpxmi0LD_4-HfGgjPceSAd5jg_uzM7jDIDn8Gav4ZgRyOov0iytXxcnMuBHeaoFOU25htExBEOuowp0LBsM8FW2y4Qp3UxiXq05Cv6OAE3JadR-L6G2OVY8j_SDXJgbqOBFToQiiQ4/s400/RING-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526889899791726626" /></a>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-5351011392784004622010-09-10T07:23:00.000-07:002010-09-10T07:45:48.836-07:00Berg and His LegacyIt's probably not usual to have one's earliest exposure to opera be those of Alban Berg's, but they were for me. The small but prescient Darien Library of my youth had the superb Deutsche Grammophon recording of <I>Wozzeck</I>, conducted by the underappreciated Karl Böhm, and I must have taken it out ten times, eventually asking my family to buy me the similarly cast discs of <I>Lulu</I> (which took me longer to appreciate. But at age 17, having seen not much more than <I>The Gondoliers</I>, <I>La Bohème</I>, and having heard little more than <I>I Pagliacci</I> and <I>Il Trovatore</I>, these works were a leap off the mountain into ice cold waters of the twentieth century. These works grew in depth for me the more one read about them. Initially, the Theodor Adorno book on Berg, which I learned was a bunch of hooie (and suspected it pretty early on); and finally the two monumental books by George Perle, which convinced me that if anyone wants to understand Berg, especially his two operas, they must read these volumes. Probably no one thought more about the works, or synthesized more intellectual threads than the late Professor Perle (whose own musical compositions I am rather indifferent to). Nonetheless, Berg at his most emotional is terrific - terrifying, really. That last interlude from <I>Wozzeck</I>, after the murder of Marie, and just before the children's ring-a-rosie scene, it is the culmination of all the musical ideas in the opera:<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/w7ohcKQst4U?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/w7ohcKQst4U?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />And while it meanders into one atonal, lunatic phrase after the next, it starts and ends in D minor (and is called an 'invention on a key'), and apparently is based on an earlier, tonal, abandoned work that Berg managed to meld with themes that have preceeded it in the opera. <br /><br />When I was growing up, there was very little about Alban Berg available (except for that awful book by Adorno). One had to listen and make judgments based on observation. I bought the score to <I>Wozzeck</I> ("Are you going to <I>play</I> this?" said the incredulous man behind the counter at Schirmer's), and tried to study it in the light of twelve-tone music, and, very frustrated, learned from Perle's book that it wasn't twelve-tonal at all (damn), but freely tonal, reined in by many constricting parameters. Inventions, dances, a passacaglia, a chorale. It was so full of inventiveness that I thought "he was Schoenberg's <I>pupil??</I> -- he should have been his teacher!" <br /><br />But then, as in so many other things, others caught on, and now every opera house does one opera or the other, and the audience is either all devotées, or hostile and walk out before the good parts. And once the regies take over, suddenly it's not about what we all though it was about any longer. In this scene, Margaret, who is supposed to be a simple woman singing in a tavern, is luridly gawking and looking like a boil on the face of the drama--or do I overstep?<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vJPD2WTietY?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vJPD2WTietY?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Johann Woyzeck, the historical Wozzeck, was as simple as can be. Now it's up to the Great Complexicators to show us he's something else.John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-65451304769885794822010-08-08T16:20:00.000-07:002018-09-06T07:32:56.613-07:00Accidental Coincidentals<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This weekend was the performance of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Schreker">Franz Schreker</a>'s <i>Der Ferne Klang</i> at Bard College, under the direction of Leon Botstein, who not only has to get points for utter stamina, conducting a long, difficult work; but also for the perspicacity of programming this opera in the first place. I have known DFK for a while, and have enjoyed it; have also heard <i>Der Spielwerk und die Prinzessin</i> and have the score to <i>Die Gezeichneten</i> (to which you must say "God blesshyou" whenever someone mentions it out loud). <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZ91nLc_4KtnmgADOXxKesaJcLMXKQ9vdiEnJzhZUXBmsLE8i3DDFl-Mc7aNkPTm7xXJvuWWWqmNKBlYGbbgWB4vyXJ5ciyZ-rmTXRmzZ3J9mvMJaUTJ6M2ljRnB6gbRVgmfSSU9tPT_9/s1600/ferne+klang+act+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504927268683727522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZ91nLc_4KtnmgADOXxKesaJcLMXKQ9vdiEnJzhZUXBmsLE8i3DDFl-Mc7aNkPTm7xXJvuWWWqmNKBlYGbbgWB4vyXJ5ciyZ-rmTXRmzZ3J9mvMJaUTJ6M2ljRnB6gbRVgmfSSU9tPT_9/s400/ferne+klang+act+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 259px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> <i>Der Ferne Klang,</i> from Act II as staged at Bard.<br />
<br />
<i>Der Ferne Klang</i> was staged by Thaddeus Strassberger, who staged Bard's successful <i>Les Huguenots</i> last year, and one could see where he took the rather prosaic libretto and made it more meaningful; whether that was what was needed is another, debatable point, but generally his work illuminated the dreamy, crazy, angst-filled fantasty with something approaching historicity. When I say the libretto is prosaic, I mean that if you look at Schreker's actual stage directions and scene settings, we see depicted a common room, a forest, a restaurant. In scene I, Herr Strassberger has given us not just a bourgeois living room, but a scene from <i>Un Chien Andalou,</i> with the protagonist dragging a rope into his fiancée's parlor, onto which is tethered an armoire, a sofa, a chaise longue, a bed - all on wheels. Buñuel would have loved it, but would have added a few grand pianos, not to say donkeys and priests.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFanw5A9LYnqnrVvQy67HGD8UEoZqZUHJvuFdv6MikE4m9iHsL4IPfIzqbmP66j5dO9Pn4da-MhdYwBTyOaiZC3hYFRa0CUdwPWTLxpYfDGncBpc_nQIH9gYIPSDzuoFKfH9wfYeH0AOty/s1600/bunuel.png"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503189822230235858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFanw5A9LYnqnrVvQy67HGD8UEoZqZUHJvuFdv6MikE4m9iHsL4IPfIzqbmP66j5dO9Pn4da-MhdYwBTyOaiZC3hYFRa0CUdwPWTLxpYfDGncBpc_nQIH9gYIPSDzuoFKfH9wfYeH0AOty/s400/bunuel.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 296px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><i>Scene from "Un Chien Andalou"</i>, Luis Buñuel & Salvador Dalí, 1929.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQITZ7qrOkPyuQDdLDfp3DECo9KjvnlK2Tubkj8PN9FWOlVwr6CkKmsVDe-u57ZJA8vCwXQYZlDojDGFBo4kHlHs4LFgYrtUv5m85ZVxcm22fDoCUv_OtGiSy6ZkaHyg70Ltgv4P2P7x5/s1600/ferne+klang+act+1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504927627959655890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQITZ7qrOkPyuQDdLDfp3DECo9KjvnlK2Tubkj8PN9FWOlVwr6CkKmsVDe-u57ZJA8vCwXQYZlDojDGFBo4kHlHs4LFgYrtUv5m85ZVxcm22fDoCUv_OtGiSy6ZkaHyg70Ltgv4P2P7x5/s400/ferne+klang+act+1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 259px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> From Act I of <i>Der Ferne Klang</i> as staged at Bard. The living room has already been dragged in. The mousy women on the right look as though they stumbled in from Bayreuth's <i>Lohengrin</i>, (see below).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhL3gJLORWHp4NVrxiaVatGQy-K-JDB4pvxNirKcUJ4-Y6oR24sRERGDrH9rRl_ZYBtCiANzZy3nzW9xXXAcWrFAhoJ7JjQYryORbz136ReLwVeOFtrscz9z9hMq71vkxeBoAbrQ9BlVO/s1600/mudetod1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503510980729074402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhL3gJLORWHp4NVrxiaVatGQy-K-JDB4pvxNirKcUJ4-Y6oR24sRERGDrH9rRl_ZYBtCiANzZy3nzW9xXXAcWrFAhoJ7JjQYryORbz136ReLwVeOFtrscz9z9hMq71vkxeBoAbrQ9BlVO/s320/mudetod1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 267px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 305px;" /></a><br />
<br />
But the more poignant rethinking of the setting was the second scene, which (in the original libretto) is supposed to take place in a dark wood; but in this staging it takes place in a cinema. Even more Hitchcockianly, we, the <i>real</i> audience are behind the screen, looking <i>through</i> it at the actors playing the audience watching the film. Neat idea. On the screen between these two audiences is a mélange of scenes from Fritz Lang's <i>Der Müde Tod</i> (1921) (<i>above</i>), which had a huge influence on--Luis Buñuel (as well as Ingmar Bergman). Even more interesting. <br />
<br />
<i>Der Müde Tod</i> = "Weary Death"; <i>Der Ferne Klang</i> = "The Distant Sound."<br />
<br />
The idea of the cinema screen playing simultaneously with the opera was the most engaging element of the staging, but sometimes was much too much stimulus at one time for anyone to absorb and make sense of. <i>Der Müde Tod</i> made sense as counterpoint; but later on shots of German military preparing for war was rather a bollocks. I am so tired of all German opera being <i>regie</i>d to death, comparing the simple plot being sung before us to incipient agression, military buildup, Naziism and sausage-eating. <br />
<br />
However, a further coincidence chimed in this scene. Now that we are looking through the screen, we are watching not only Lang's film about a woman contemplating suicide and meeting Death (à la <i>Seventh Seal</i>), but hearing our singing operatic heroine Grete also contemplating suicide. To further muddy the waters, in the cinema's back row seats we can see a very unexpected interplay of a male patron receiving the oral/intercrural attentions of a woman who was sitting by him when the scene began, and now has disappeared under the seats. At this point of sensual overstimulation, my ears seemed to deceive me: what Grete was singing was from <i>I Gioielli della Madonna</i>, the opera we saw in May that I helped tangentially to get <a href="http://www.grattacielo.org/">produced in New York City</a>. How could that be?<br />
<br />
Well, ladies and gentlemen, the notes don't lie. My ear actually served me well in this instance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPH_-58aPKq35_zhlC9L7DhQJD2WQ1VQdElnGsVBiUpK6sQT4mGnFCVyQXW2lPwxCHKRQS0nPOL_ZTmyWpsfDduXQwqiVlOcsww0qU7e2QSWFeKL7HVqu_t4CzutRsDBY8uIpv_5LwV7Y_/s1600/DFKlang.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503509955172611522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPH_-58aPKq35_zhlC9L7DhQJD2WQ1VQdElnGsVBiUpK6sQT4mGnFCVyQXW2lPwxCHKRQS0nPOL_ZTmyWpsfDduXQwqiVlOcsww0qU7e2QSWFeKL7HVqu_t4CzutRsDBY8uIpv_5LwV7Y_/s400/DFKlang.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 51px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><b><i>Der Ferne Klang</i></b>, by Franz Schreker, 1909-1912.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt7JwnjHcDDd4xo4MuGPdGvn9duE6gxZE4MMhcVJtEquVihRx7abQ5mwauWyNCPzmXeCwhaprCZJWzNR1mgh2tu_YzwMiuPauQehyq_sYBrMnOvu8cdNcdpqE3hDX9bt6aPVPkZKZ0La5r/s1600/gioielli.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503510410942322562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt7JwnjHcDDd4xo4MuGPdGvn9duE6gxZE4MMhcVJtEquVihRx7abQ5mwauWyNCPzmXeCwhaprCZJWzNR1mgh2tu_YzwMiuPauQehyq_sYBrMnOvu8cdNcdpqE3hDX9bt6aPVPkZKZ0La5r/s400/gioielli.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 58px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 380px;" /></a><b><i>I Gioielli della Madonna</i></b> by Wolf-Ferrari, 1911.<br />
<br />
Yes, different harmonies, but <i>the exact same notes, same rhythm, same pitch-values.</i> OK, the jig is up. Who cribbed whom? Both German composers, both same year, both same measure. Was Schreker giving a two-measure <i>hommage</i>? Did both composers draw from some the same cultural reminiscence, perhaps? Did their nannies sing them this ninna-nanna at bedtime? For Schreker, it seems to symbolize the release of Death. For Wolf-Ferrari, it is the longing for real love. What is most remarkable for me is that W-F's opera is full of melody, full of local Neapolitan color and song; Schreker is not about melody, really. (A colleague said to me, 'yes, it's nice enough, but when it's over you can't remember a note.') This snatch of melody stands out in the <i>whole opera</i> as something you <i>can</i> remember. <br />
<br />
I find that quite interesting, especially since around the same time Richard Strauss was accused of <a href="http://www.classicalcdreview.com/gnec.htm"> plagiarizing Gnecchi's opera</a> <i>Cassandra</i> in <i>Elektra</i> But there <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2001/07/15/arts/l-strauss-and-gnecchi-birth-of-elektra-214507.html">are diverging opinions on this</a>. However to me there is no doubt of it when you hear the two of them! -- but Strauss won out, and no one hears the Gnecchi any more. <br />
<br />
Yet Herr Doktor Richard Strauss also aspired to Stravinsky's maxim, to 'always steal from the best.' While conducting opera throughout Germany he probably heard or presented Massenet's <i>Sapho</i> in the 1890s; one theme in it, very uncharacteristic for Massenet became -- magically -- a very important and characteristic theme in Strauss's <i>Salome</i>, representing her longing for the man she has had slain.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzpJA27F3gJiOaDdftBVC9apE619EYMZkYFfpi94AkLgU6eau5Hln4tx6TfNrvjRcMzGAUob2pQuBb6baVVZVZ0Irqjd8fXGT7hjI5B2DmE1IDfP7kTVF_vGuDH92VuZ24pHP7jOAL1Nz/s1600/sapho.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503867050080039618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzpJA27F3gJiOaDdftBVC9apE619EYMZkYFfpi94AkLgU6eau5Hln4tx6TfNrvjRcMzGAUob2pQuBb6baVVZVZ0Irqjd8fXGT7hjI5B2DmE1IDfP7kTVF_vGuDH92VuZ24pHP7jOAL1Nz/s1600/sapho.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><b>from <i>Sapho</i> by Jules Massenet, 1897.</b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3AY2sRYJjf4MuC1n55svuL6k7tq1EfA44_tq-q5ZzJ4Sqn6moCllnSPJeW8zmHMWUo-rfUQqy_R1FwaGSSbtbZHR7GWYFUEEXkdLvAZ2Hac2iT7_OBL21mYCeJDmHEQS8L7cIUfjrG6V/s1600/salome.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504264528892463170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ3AY2sRYJjf4MuC1n55svuL6k7tq1EfA44_tq-q5ZzJ4Sqn6moCllnSPJeW8zmHMWUo-rfUQqy_R1FwaGSSbtbZHR7GWYFUEEXkdLvAZ2Hac2iT7_OBL21mYCeJDmHEQS8L7cIUfjrG6V/s400/salome.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 275px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><b>from <i>Salome</i>, by Richard Strauss (1905).</b><br />
<br />
I suppose one can say that such hommages or coincidences are forgivable when the composers are living in the same timeframe. But what do we do with this one?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2L1gOnzxq23ZvEvXUIpQO-JjsO4LvCt4td-3yM3nE1pKpP5oVoEgk5PdU1YfgxaLvQaH3gcyizFD5YETVvVazmDsRvkPmucPPjVog83vytmy1VI4yNJkUWC4exK9NrpqliFyc3HWxiLo/s1600/fanciulla.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="468" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503837121833748098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2L1gOnzxq23ZvEvXUIpQO-JjsO4LvCt4td-3yM3nE1pKpP5oVoEgk5PdU1YfgxaLvQaH3gcyizFD5YETVvVazmDsRvkPmucPPjVog83vytmy1VI4yNJkUWC4exK9NrpqliFyc3HWxiLo/s640/fanciulla.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><b>from <i>La Fanciulla Del West,</i> Giacomo Puccini, 1910 </b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-aNT5TPsNxAM1hiz1cBxSCUPcZEZZU5-wF81gtbLzkTAhmneNgex60XLGltmkK6VyktKouHJX3HORbIPXJyDJhqwdWI86nvbcQK0RVb2Vzbv7iCo2XHB_2mLnsYGplltr-VqBdUvO5A/s1600/Phantom-pericope.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="233" data-original-width="902" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-aNT5TPsNxAM1hiz1cBxSCUPcZEZZU5-wF81gtbLzkTAhmneNgex60XLGltmkK6VyktKouHJX3HORbIPXJyDJhqwdWI86nvbcQK0RVb2Vzbv7iCo2XHB_2mLnsYGplltr-VqBdUvO5A/s640/Phantom-pericope.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>from <i>The Phantom of the Opera</i> by Andrew Lloyd Webber, 1986</b><br />
<br />
This one is a little harder to <i>see</i>, and if you don't read music may be somewhat hard to appreciate, but they're in similar keys (G-flat/D-flat), and the melody is over the same harmony. When accused of 'sounding like Puccini' - Webber remarked "It's supposed to sound like Puccini!" One can see how well he succeeded! Personally, I'd like to see Webber write a new version of <i>Tosca</i>. It could be totally different, and be titled: <i>Tosca!</i><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-73231098630916825402010-08-05T11:17:00.000-07:002010-08-12T15:06:56.637-07:00Lohengrinning and Bayreuthing itAll right, I agree that's too much for a punning title. But this year's Bayreuth production of <I>Lohengrin</I> has to bring a smile to someone's face. I truly do not yet understand this Lego mentality of dramaturgy, where perfectly beautiful performances are staged using tropes that seem to come from the nursery. <a href="http://videoguide.bayreuther-festspiele.de/english/inspizient/index.html">Take a look at scenes from this year's production,</a> (if it doesn't start automatically, go to Start Video and select "Stage Manager") --which feature black and white rats as the townspeople. Anthony Tommasini said that it was 'strange but moving.' I guess we have to believe him -- <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/05/arts/music/05lohengrin.html?_r=1&ref=music"> but I wonder if I am simply becoming much too much of a fuddy-duddy</a> to appreciate this monkeying with the staging. Believe me, if someone did this to a work of mine, I'd have something to say about it. All right, so their little rat-feet are cute. But in <I><B>Lohengrin??</B></I><P><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsbn8Y9ToNh56ESrfjq6gfKSxs4MeFWzl2Zd9shb1GkqhZCMbtO5QE9FfXJB7vcyGDsSN-FxJSf1qCvYMnf5M8wCGwx2L7XOZv1V-2hMQ1daGIZqfypmY0DNxVP7DGrYCxvMp8M479Xds/s1600/jp_lohengrinv1-popup.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsbn8Y9ToNh56ESrfjq6gfKSxs4MeFWzl2Zd9shb1GkqhZCMbtO5QE9FfXJB7vcyGDsSN-FxJSf1qCvYMnf5M8wCGwx2L7XOZv1V-2hMQ1daGIZqfypmY0DNxVP7DGrYCxvMp8M479Xds/s200/jp_lohengrinv1-popup.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501992226880212306" /></a> <br /><P> I guess I keep thinking of Lauritz Melchior wearing little spongy feet.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlV_h7SQsbgnplJi84zGqmrrI7klrlR7OOEuEPA0hKVYnSpqUUligeflhMsaUgHA8Vo2KLee8kxWFtYN26B_7gimNtU8jfqS0m7iGirDRhS8M5VyZ0EpnWOgPULHHpNIYQC1uKmI87_7yz/s1600/gehrig_cap-articleInline.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 148px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlV_h7SQsbgnplJi84zGqmrrI7klrlR7OOEuEPA0hKVYnSpqUUligeflhMsaUgHA8Vo2KLee8kxWFtYN26B_7gimNtU8jfqS0m7iGirDRhS8M5VyZ0EpnWOgPULHHpNIYQC1uKmI87_7yz/s200/gehrig_cap-articleInline.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501993308835287426" /></a> How sad to think that all the thought and history that went into the creation of these works should be ground down to the great Lego-leveler of the Regies. Is this the swansong of Lohengrin? What if they were performing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Der_Rattenf%C3%A4nger_von_Hameln"><I>The Ratcatcher of Hamlin</I></a> or <I>Schwanda Der Dudelsackpfeifer</I>, or even <I>Hans, il Suonatore del Flauto</I> in a nearby competing Festspielhaus? Then you got something. <P><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFAv3UaeA-OFfUvn7yvoHBZ72a0rE9n19Odxoed_nBf3YstF44lNrIvlr_zacVdnv231f3TCnh1Ugtnv23z8-nSMzT85COgW6xjghZCkYC0iHQLCUQ_HrDsYPPn93cYWRvDXyAE-Aqn2R/s1600/hans.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 201px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFAv3UaeA-OFfUvn7yvoHBZ72a0rE9n19Odxoed_nBf3YstF44lNrIvlr_zacVdnv231f3TCnh1Ugtnv23z8-nSMzT85COgW6xjghZCkYC0iHQLCUQ_HrDsYPPn93cYWRvDXyAE-Aqn2R/s400/hans.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502006228027017138" /></a><br /><P>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-89342521302147879302010-07-30T11:18:00.000-07:002010-07-30T11:34:10.004-07:00Insignificance? Or Significance?<br><br>Interesting that <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/feb28/4820647230/">Our sun is really one of the smallest stars out there</a>; what does that make us on an even smaller Earth, with all our petty problems and snarling disagreements.<br> Just for a laugh:<br /><br><br><Blockquote>Laughing like a fool is the only humor left me. <br />Everything is tinged and stained in tragedy;<br />Every drink a binge, every effort, strain.<br />Blinking irritates, breathing needs reminding—<br />Aching racks my disembodied brain,<br />Passions run to hates and seeing heralds blinding.<br />A recipe for what I know and who I am:<br />The saddle full, the kidneys and the ham,<br /><I>On the rack of life, I am a Rack of Lamb</I>.</blockquote><br /><center><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4138/4820647230_d4d17ff037.jpg" width="100%"></center><br /><br><br /><blockquote>Yesterday's air begs attention<br />Beyond its usual frame, and<br />Serious in acrid shafts<br />Of plutonian merriment, wafts<br />A looming palette of chilled boredom<br />Through the morning's rumble to a Colder City.<br />Let us start the day with prayer, with thanks<br />With hope, with sunblooming,<br />With birdsong, water, or sincere<br />Pelts of snow but not the defeat<br />Of hopssmelling puddles of beer<br />Shellac-thick, pickled on the seat.</blockquote><br><br /><img src="http://wrecks.justsickshit.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/truck-spill-grolsh.jpg" width="100%"><br /><br><br>Just for a laugh.<br>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-73289156843959758602010-07-21T07:45:00.000-07:002010-07-30T12:17:46.549-07:00Publicity in Places<img src="http://twentyfourframes.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/eating11849447732.jpg"><P><br />This week I'll be performing Chaplin's <a href="http://www.jmucci.com/films/grange/GrangeFilm07.htm"><I>The Gold Rush</I></a> at the Pound Ridge Library, formerly known as the Hiram Halle Library. I was touched to see another blogger <a href="http://www.bonnibrodnick.com/2010/07/record-review-talk-of-town_17.html"> has taken the time to write about it</a>. I also had someone named Marschner join my group on <a href="http://launch.groups.yahoo.com/group/Marschnerites/join">Heinrich Marschner</a>, and then there is this restaurant named "Mucci's" in North Carolina -- <a href="http://muccis-nc.com/">Who knew?</a> - I joined them and they joined me on Twitter. I don't recall having such feelings before, so I don't know how to characterize it really; when inbound and outbound links start to interpenetrate your cocoon, do you feel good? I suppose I do, if I look upon it as publicity. But there is a level of spreading around local or intercyber camaraderie, and then there's publicity, where you don't care who responds. Since we are so inured to email, we assume that if we are publicized electronically it must be personal--but that's not the case, is it?John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-78372638145007947682010-07-14T06:18:00.001-07:002010-08-02T15:50:31.073-07:00Once again into the breeches<B> Or, Greenscreen was all my Joy</B><br><br>So we are to be treated to a <a href="http://twilightninjas.blogspot.com/2010/07/on-set-of-roland-emmerichs-anonymous.html">Hollywood version of The Shakespeare Authorship Question</a> at last. Roland Emmerich is directing <I>Anonymous</I>, a full-scale re-telling of the SAQ in its latest incarnation, that is, that The Earl of Oxford, a/k/a William Shake-speare, wrote just about everything from <I>Piers Ploughman</I> to <I>Hellzapoppin</I>, by way of the King James Bible. Furthermore, he is supposed to be the son of Queen Elizabeth, and the father of henry Wriothesley, the Earl of Southampton by the same woman, which is making this story seem about as plausible as the plot of <I>Götterdämmerung</I>. However, having once produced a television program on the same topic, albeit without the characters descending to incest and Queenophilia, I am keeping an open mind about it.<BR><BR> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4iXfOoR8fFZPDU446aLDnUE3oSs6L5vf6P4ySq1ielI6CC3Bp9lM09Ip-90jDJvJd_fS8mg5ykiRGj9xATGSNrw3pcGE3iaF_QZ3MKUvpyqk7qGAp-jSOQWFQeJKqfh4juCDXvcDxnXi/s1600/image.jpg"><br><br><br />But when we read that Emmerich doesn't know much about the era, nor read much Shakespeare - does he care enough to be a good director for this touchy subject? Or will this be the 16th century version of Oliver Stone's <I>W</I>?<br><br><br /><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjVl9TekDAnlq7MsdbqJoVIsz2N98rgIDdelXR31lixoGIlLl3W4lA02CfW0mEY1Rpis0prIY2PzE9eNunEFL9KApUuC01VccNl4nKezXAhY8_bpVIXIqJHE1wswWg9psC-q2slL_K6ccB/s1600/image-1.jpg"><P><br /><br /><TABLE width="205" height="210" align="left" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="4"><TD cellpadding="4"><img src="http://www.jmucci.com/store/usu/Looney1.jpg"><br /></TD></TABLE>When <B>John Thomas Looney</B> wrote his groundbreaking book "'Shakespeare' Identified in Edward de Vere" in 1919, it was a bombshell of a book, creating enormous controversy and discussion, polarizing the academic community and paralyzing those who couldn't explain it all away with a dissertation. Many years later, Dorothy and Charlton Ogburn wrote a book, "This Star of England"—a huge tome by the way, which tried to put <TABLE width="205" height="210" align="left" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="4"><TD cellpadding="4"><img src="http://www.ogbourne.com/charltono.jpg"></TD></TABLE>Looney's work into perspective, and give a fuller picture of the Earl of Oxford and why they believed he was the true author of Shakespeare's works. While this book was not as hot a property as Looney's (and their names not as much a target for ridicule), their son, <B>Charlton Ogburn, Jr</B>., also wrote several books on the subject, his masterpiece being "<a href=http://www.amazon.com/Mysterious-William-Shakespeare-Myth-Reality/dp/0939009676/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1280525694&sr=8-1">The Mysterious William Shakespeare</a>." It was this book that prompted William F. Buckley, Jr. to have Ogburn on his "Firing Line" program, which I saw one winter morning, and which interested me in the Authorship Question enough to buy just about every book on the subject and borrow the rest.<BR><BR><TABLE width="205" height="210" align="left" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="4"><TD cellpadding="4"><img src="http://www.nndb.com/people/030/000117676/delia-bacon-1-sized.jpg"></TD></TABLE>What I discovered was that since the days of <B>Delia Bacon</B>, who insisted that Sir Francis Bacon (not a relative -- depends whom you ask) was the real author, there were those who tried to give some real scholarship behind it all. There were also those in the lunatic fringe who believed that whatever they felt like believing was the truth, then began to shore up their beliefs with "evidence." <br><br><br />Again, I do keep an open mind (and, my friends point out, have a hole in my head to prove it); but some of the "evidence" to support the ideas of every braincramp that comes from the conspiracy-theoristas can be appalling as well as amusing. Added to that, the academicians start to froth at every orifice, and the battles-royal are terrifying in their scope and wrath. Early on (internetwise), Professor Hardy Cook's <a href="http://www.shaksper.net/">SHAKSPER Listserv</a> had some lively discussions on the topic, but the venom that eventually seeped from the traditionalists was sometimes a sight to see, since they could not repress those who thought they were storming the Bardian Bastille. Eventually, I think, all Oxfordians were banned from the moderated list.<br /><br />Theoristas do tend to go on at length. Delia Bacon's book weighs in at more than 500 pages; so do the Ogburns' <I>magnae chartae</I>. But one of the most inventive is actually a slender volume by Ralph L. Tweedale titled "Wasn't Shakespeare Somone Else?" (a coy title if there ever was one). Ralph believed that if you take all the instances of the letters "V E R E" including "W E R E" and "V E R" and a few other permutations, and circle them in the <I>SONNETS</I> of 1609, you can connect the circles with lines and lo and behold, large forms of letters appear in each sonnet, spelling out secret messages... <br /><br><br><center><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsU3s8c8XygQua8sovJ2-2adHq_4XSeKxGoRi8A-TcOfCv4_n2Yh2TdM0oStrEZhIBm8zVbdA93S0FLRK1ZlDLgyYs2DPanLTZ3WF-HntgzguLYbRf6Okihe06crnwxkOwyM5iYUnDRlg/s1600/n't+Shakespeare+Someone+Else+03--Detail.jpg"></center>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-50537467587631563462010-07-12T15:03:00.000-07:002010-07-14T06:44:54.503-07:00Someone and No OneGoes to show you how confident some people are. This is a modern "All About Eve" - even if it is for only a few minutes of fame...<br><br><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LKbUOeMuvtk&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LKbUOeMuvtk&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br><br><br />If you don't understand French, you'll get the gist of it. A soccer fan managed to get to shake the President's hand, pose with the team, slide in front of photographers, join in a fabulous time when his team won, even though no one knew who he was! He signs footballs at the end, and says to the camera "it doesn't matter who I am, or what." "N'importe qui, n'importe quoi." Ooh la-la, have a great Quatorze Juilliet.John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-15521064469348519212010-06-03T06:50:00.000-07:002010-06-03T07:15:39.496-07:00Boys with ToysI know it's beating a dead horse, but you really should look at what they are compelling the poor singers to do at the LA Opera with the Ring Cycle.<hr><br> <P><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KKqqUWTuJLU&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KKqqUWTuJLU&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><P><br />The singers are doing their all in a very, very difficult work, but look positively <I>idiotic</i> in this production. What, may I ask, is gained by setting this opera on a planet far, far away populated by Lego people? With all his specific directions written into his score, poor Wagner is no doubt line-dancing in his grave.<br /><a href="http://parterre.com/dr-repertoires-10-rules-for-stage-directors/">I think La Cieca's rules apply well here.</a> I'd love to know what anyone thinks who actually saw this enormous, expensive TinkerToy<sup>®</sup> of a <I>Ring</I>...John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-50051674195032340632010-06-02T19:15:00.000-07:002010-06-03T13:19:33.777-07:00Conspicuous consumption<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJC64POZNvPIKAqalDLoOebbkYt7MFXNqR8VrYR0mCIO1xAvFORWOaoyRGTtbGaYYQvFtVi3fPsVhHFMPT6vtH-lCv3FMvBdNlLAZyInYgMnjqW5_TP3GxYcYOZItuWT6bZA9bGf42YFuz/s1600/Kermaria.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJC64POZNvPIKAqalDLoOebbkYt7MFXNqR8VrYR0mCIO1xAvFORWOaoyRGTtbGaYYQvFtVi3fPsVhHFMPT6vtH-lCv3FMvBdNlLAZyInYgMnjqW5_TP3GxYcYOZItuWT6bZA9bGf42YFuz/s200/Kermaria.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478641691956431330" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooAGkB2XDC2RqT91TIwYydw7u8BIl2Ne9yHxmZeYFVyF2RKexvrA06lwHRUNtnROhYmYmvV87KBD2CPZnqme-orSn5yKXw8K7gGadjL_1d-9jgpEuYBRbeoBpjt2rxE8pnjc97qyJcDnj/s1600/LOmbre_De_Cathedrale.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooAGkB2XDC2RqT91TIwYydw7u8BIl2Ne9yHxmZeYFVyF2RKexvrA06lwHRUNtnROhYmYmvV87KBD2CPZnqme-orSn5yKXw8K7gGadjL_1d-9jgpEuYBRbeoBpjt2rxE8pnjc97qyJcDnj/s200/LOmbre_De_Cathedrale.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639023230547922" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI42fAWHIKwvu_lU7yd9J_Oej66hjuzW6h2Ya-AzJQTj4IGbWMTNAmHmL5AtUPfTNqRv6ztLL4mYqDUk9rXerjn42uMvy6imqXfL_c02O0IkTc8TBXyvRX-HxSdcW64oSpIyCcadzhWeZv/s1600/Le_Petit_Faust.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 127px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI42fAWHIKwvu_lU7yd9J_Oej66hjuzW6h2Ya-AzJQTj4IGbWMTNAmHmL5AtUPfTNqRv6ztLL4mYqDUk9rXerjn42uMvy6imqXfL_c02O0IkTc8TBXyvRX-HxSdcW64oSpIyCcadzhWeZv/s200/Le_Petit_Faust.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639014102513378" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKaM6IC0N5BqnC-8t5zphhkz8BP8ODY4lLNB630H3VoSO2IT_z34kBPJYmZxS4deYb9T_noktHSg09-TqpXHu04RZAQGFoki0rH3eq8UgGMOH3z2xQoc0ovd2h1sKpkkNmrnx9l8Uw0Vf/s1600/Juif_Polonais.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKaM6IC0N5BqnC-8t5zphhkz8BP8ODY4lLNB630H3VoSO2IT_z34kBPJYmZxS4deYb9T_noktHSg09-TqpXHu04RZAQGFoki0rH3eq8UgGMOH3z2xQoc0ovd2h1sKpkkNmrnx9l8Uw0Vf/s200/Juif_Polonais.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639013284869586" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNbnmdv6Sm9T-ejOFq7adCUGvqTfXYisb238Fusuntz9Nx_93udwD0ulsHURfsLUpuyZtdttacU_3IOgOY4gdkXJqPGN_Jbq4xfXs_LvXVelj3QkPbe87fOdLGk73w92WAdU1dl0husAJf/s1600/Chatte_Merveilleuse.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNbnmdv6Sm9T-ejOFq7adCUGvqTfXYisb238Fusuntz9Nx_93udwD0ulsHURfsLUpuyZtdttacU_3IOgOY4gdkXJqPGN_Jbq4xfXs_LvXVelj3QkPbe87fOdLGk73w92WAdU1dl0husAJf/s200/Chatte_Merveilleuse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639011073841954" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNUiRcoIAsFevxNHta8o4Q7I5u8t23z4SWfTkxovoCBuQuW3BOSCSvrJ_wLvJPXKMddWTbeouu9NqAlBl0DwEMXZQhiXG2Yy7KlFGcVzgNDPZdgJVrmszplI0xQx8V3hy28L8zqAX7IdZr/s1600/Dante.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNUiRcoIAsFevxNHta8o4Q7I5u8t23z4SWfTkxovoCBuQuW3BOSCSvrJ_wLvJPXKMddWTbeouu9NqAlBl0DwEMXZQhiXG2Yy7KlFGcVzgNDPZdgJVrmszplI0xQx8V3hy28L8zqAX7IdZr/s200/Dante.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639001413950338" /></a><br />Thanks to the Canadian archives that have opened their collections to digitization, there are now hundreds of musical scores to French operas from 1820s - 1920's online, for free. Other than causing me tremendous distress because I feel I must have them all, it is an astonishing lesson in musicology and history to see the sheer number of men (very few women) who have spent their lives writing opera for the French stage, and the librettists who sometimes are their salvation and sometimes their scourge. Each of these scores is filed, sometimes more findably than others, and many are in their original bindings, with telltale library cards in the back, betraying that most of them had never been taken out since they were donated in the 1960s, and many of them probably hadn't been opened long, long before that. They are in their beautiful bindings, some stamped with their previous owner's names, most with the oil-paper as the binding's endpapers, each charming and sometimes surprising in its treatment. Some have lithographs, some chromos on the title pages, each with its own artistic bent, each with a style befitting the publisher. Some of them, Choudens, Sonzogno, are familiar, others I worry about, such as "M<sup>me</sup>Cendrier"...(who could name a publisher after its founder, "Mrs. Ashtray?")<br />But inside these time-capsules, what merriment - what torturous feeling, what racking of the nerves; some of the music is just like some of the other music - and was there a lot of it! But some of it is so very peculiar and singular.<br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzoBJSzlQJrQRfbgkgSHELR4Q0Y0n96Qmo4ITXyuepAhYE-hZB4zb5HpVwSkU2ba0cL0c8rYx-AaFb2vPx0IZ1icN6FCg5WSxoF04CwKqPaq3pyJPEtyQ_WjjOOqLpl_Ex1lne8S6Kucg/s1600/marble7.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 121px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHzoBJSzlQJrQRfbgkgSHELR4Q0Y0n96Qmo4ITXyuepAhYE-hZB4zb5HpVwSkU2ba0cL0c8rYx-AaFb2vPx0IZ1icN6FCg5WSxoF04CwKqPaq3pyJPEtyQ_WjjOOqLpl_Ex1lne8S6Kucg/s200/marble7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639743957942402" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhbH5hcmf91hyphenhyphenULxRjaJ0r2oWv_9w8JmPuhyphenhypheniEP_mAhjH37dtQvGUtIjZ8dapqvGvUsCwyiuRkvyBN593GNtRObYceYEt1nEmO4MKYjVOyHAIDcn6sj5iihvIabUYtajIC_V9RVWUoZqp/s1600/marble8.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 116px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhbH5hcmf91hyphenhyphenULxRjaJ0r2oWv_9w8JmPuhyphenhypheniEP_mAhjH37dtQvGUtIjZ8dapqvGvUsCwyiuRkvyBN593GNtRObYceYEt1nEmO4MKYjVOyHAIDcn6sj5iihvIabUYtajIC_V9RVWUoZqp/s200/marble8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639739721532162" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAXkiNgOw8mymuxBENx-6Kct4ZsoYU2uy49B_K_rJXS0HKBJoPAcX5CvmNBq46TMsHZeijahmwsSVFye3swZG9m4iQhq8ZBHhEe_oEJWVNHgNmF245STCbRTBu-zt0KBe_4QpN7x_p6qp/s1600/marble2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 127px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAXkiNgOw8mymuxBENx-6Kct4ZsoYU2uy49B_K_rJXS0HKBJoPAcX5CvmNBq46TMsHZeijahmwsSVFye3swZG9m4iQhq8ZBHhEe_oEJWVNHgNmF245STCbRTBu-zt0KBe_4QpN7x_p6qp/s200/marble2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639732965377794" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRdyNhw_WwB7XaCEB8Eb8bti-ZOOiOCPmGbyVKhzcVy_C1y9WI5wTlwxp0gVQPAnTseWyprmaF9dNF149_VzG9fLg5ev8w6vIRUEgKMoQwOYQY0KdKZdthyYmtupDq5PLVW_aVhKx-IGa/s1600/marble1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRdyNhw_WwB7XaCEB8Eb8bti-ZOOiOCPmGbyVKhzcVy_C1y9WI5wTlwxp0gVQPAnTseWyprmaF9dNF149_VzG9fLg5ev8w6vIRUEgKMoQwOYQY0KdKZdthyYmtupDq5PLVW_aVhKx-IGa/s200/marble1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478639724686722306" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjO6lFaarkax1Ra47VJlgL9h2Y0uAlHUsxI1EvgIFDDg-TLMHZwzTVs4d_4ESBk0MuGYqHnXQFTX_0bQaUBwzNFSrCCbJrLaN6tJdS37anhk7kbfvr89KW6TXvAbPPn_1kkgZf9FcErHmV/s1600/marble5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjO6lFaarkax1Ra47VJlgL9h2Y0uAlHUsxI1EvgIFDDg-TLMHZwzTVs4d_4ESBk0MuGYqHnXQFTX_0bQaUBwzNFSrCCbJrLaN6tJdS37anhk7kbfvr89KW6TXvAbPPn_1kkgZf9FcErHmV/s200/marble5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478643543289827426" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmjnZcFtXk8CAkWYU81gK7r0_T8MMljatZWQOYIdXZnZ3dhpbmfFJFvSK69PNPVN7pcziPOcsgsM9kMgHcccl_QMAS7cMjLQBK5WucO5IMzMmOKZTZUTlpeanzmyIwcGApyliF1FER_UR/s1600/marble6.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmjnZcFtXk8CAkWYU81gK7r0_T8MMljatZWQOYIdXZnZ3dhpbmfFJFvSK69PNPVN7pcziPOcsgsM9kMgHcccl_QMAS7cMjLQBK5WucO5IMzMmOKZTZUTlpeanzmyIwcGApyliF1FER_UR/s200/marble6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478643532760255010" /></a>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-69988159741072053172010-05-28T06:23:00.000-07:002010-05-28T07:03:49.659-07:00Battle Royal at the Opera<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ULBNoc3D8tocvWlp3XQgac47VXkueKL0YBzgP1DFkLhnuiWOqe-2IgHWU9m2SltIoy4BmF9kFLqzGGBJHGr1qAmiMhxEuJ6Hk-pRexWmPWPo4qKDL8AZylIyLCiJ9nOvYRverNxwgGc_/s1600/home_sieg.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 197px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ULBNoc3D8tocvWlp3XQgac47VXkueKL0YBzgP1DFkLhnuiWOqe-2IgHWU9m2SltIoy4BmF9kFLqzGGBJHGr1qAmiMhxEuJ6Hk-pRexWmPWPo4qKDL8AZylIyLCiJ9nOvYRverNxwgGc_/s200/home_sieg.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476314419516368754" /></a><br />So Plácido Domingo is caught in an artistic struggle; whether or not to replace his Siegfried in the LA Opera's <I>Die Walküre</I> (in which he is playing Siegmund); or as the <a href="http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/stage/opera/article7133888.ece">article puts it</a>: "He must decide whether to replace John Treleaven, the British tenor cast as the hero of Wagner’s Ring Cycle in Los Angeles, or anger financial backers." I am sure contractually Domingo will figure it all out: he's had worse to contend with. However the complaint by Treleaven seems to be valid.<br /> The tenor is balking at playing Siegfried in 'clownish makeup' on a steeply-raked stage. The Brünnhilde has complained about the stage-rake as well, saying it unbalanced her and was threatening to harm her voice because of the angle at which her head is forced to be in. I think these are valid comments, and from looking at the photos, I am not sure I'd want to see this Ring staged as though it were <I>Flash Gordon</I>. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJyLRA80qAnjJ9bQsNm1Xo7625-bKmovMT1tCnw2Yezg9MpLlB0vXXbQ78mYorKuSEjW4lCos4raErqGnMraMKD_wyPuFtSXj0meKKzhtN5SYKn3PLI3aXs4YAnUgsV6RU8LJhKVG_3qG/s1600/News_Siegfried360_720015a.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 103px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJyLRA80qAnjJ9bQsNm1Xo7625-bKmovMT1tCnw2Yezg9MpLlB0vXXbQ78mYorKuSEjW4lCos4raErqGnMraMKD_wyPuFtSXj0meKKzhtN5SYKn3PLI3aXs4YAnUgsV6RU8LJhKVG_3qG/s200/News_Siegfried360_720015a.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476311654190906210" /></a><br /><br />Neither do I know why a nearly-70 year old Domingo, recovering from colon cancer, would play Siegmund in the costumes they are demanding. Why, why, <I>why</I> is Wagner the magnet for such awful dramaturgy? In previous post I bemoaned the overwrought <I>Tiefland</I> as taking a simple story and making it unrecognizeable as a post-modern <I>1984</I> saga. What do they teach dramaturgs these days, anyhow? Is there a course titled "How to F* up Wagner, 101"? And what is with Achim Freyer, 76, the German artistic director? Is there a prize given for the worst, most tasteless staging of the <I>Ring</I> ? Remember when Fafner was "sung" by a balloon at Bayreuth? Somehow I feel as though these stories are so complex and far from clear in their meaning, that obscuring them with layers of dramaturgical excresences is not helping the matter. I am sorry for poor Domingo to have to suffer through this; I still think the best staging I've ever seen was the Bayreuth Festival 1980, with Director: Patrice Chéreau, and cast including Donald McIntyre (Wotan), Gwyneth Jones (Brünnhilde), Manfred Jung (Siegfried), Peter Hofmann (Siegmund) Pierre Boulez conducted, which is remarkable, as I never really like his conducting much before 1990.<br />Here's a minimalist <I>Walküre</I>. Do they have "Ring-Light" for high schools?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbAR4V_vrSG2lbVqmcyQVxtX499xY4H-4eHcqSwYnLAN6sZAihBqlD9HsHw3Ey_ePItLWbgWAAKa1ghqgdO2bsqPYHnWx8-Is9EB_1ytAiZ1XXHaK3wRCT97MOAcfn-7zL92_XdA3mBuK/s1600/1879_8_large.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbAR4V_vrSG2lbVqmcyQVxtX499xY4H-4eHcqSwYnLAN6sZAihBqlD9HsHw3Ey_ePItLWbgWAAKa1ghqgdO2bsqPYHnWx8-Is9EB_1ytAiZ1XXHaK3wRCT97MOAcfn-7zL92_XdA3mBuK/s400/1879_8_large.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476321211966446258" /></a>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-80445405263797230492010-05-27T11:06:00.000-07:002010-05-27T16:11:13.501-07:00BP and its oilIt is perfectly horrifying to think that so many bad things are happening in one spot. What is the hierarchy? <iframe width="300" height="70" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://www.wkrg.com/gulf_oil_spill/iframe_ticker/"></iframe><br><a href="http://www.wkrg.com/gulf_oil_spill/" title="Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill" style="font-size:10px;">WKRG.com News</a><br /><ol><LI>Environment is being severely compromised</LI><br /><LI>Animal life is being destroyed</LI><br /><LI>People's livelihoods are being destroyed</LI><br /><LI>Natural resources are being wasted in ridiclous amounts</LI><br /><LI>Our dependence on oil is being smeared in our faces</LI><br /><LI><a href="http://www.treehugger.com/files/2010/05/rush-limbaugh-on-oil-spill-debunked.php" target="new"> Rush Limbaugh is getting media attention</a> over this</LI><br /><LI>The finger-pointing has just begun</LI></OL><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Jn8c0vkletHqssuEjDofuktCu8Dl3r2QJ5vRGVkF_ZqV3QYDeLzhlirH9ytYNViwekVh7Ncebwsz7t5yTDtC_jgnyoiDEhUPGL91GWK62MxSFG2WE4CKQkqTAXMcfl1uPHQzWXDg6cjS/s1600/oil-spill-gulf-photo-big.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Jn8c0vkletHqssuEjDofuktCu8Dl3r2QJ5vRGVkF_ZqV3QYDeLzhlirH9ytYNViwekVh7Ncebwsz7t5yTDtC_jgnyoiDEhUPGL91GWK62MxSFG2WE4CKQkqTAXMcfl1uPHQzWXDg6cjS/s400/oil-spill-gulf-photo-big.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476016974745636994" /></a><br />Truly a mess. How can you arrest the flow of that much oil coming up through 5,000 feet of sea? Why doesn't it heal, like a clot? Does this ever happen naturally? Would it have been better to let it burn like a candle on the surface? Can they just set the whole thing on firs and let it die out? How much more is down there? Can they just put a rock over it? Why can't they re-drill right into the hole, and start afresh? When will it all end? Can they use Rush Limbaugh's body to plug the hole? How much of it is a media circus, and how much of it is real? How much is still worse than they're telling us?John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-85338278221722010722010-05-26T07:14:00.000-07:002010-09-03T06:50:30.948-07:00Una Peccata Tremenda! - I Gioielli Splashes the Home of Jazz<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYUUleYAxy3FucdcY2BJV-C9O6bM-Dn-nxAyRntosu31tEJvue0JsjvwAZiLCBqS-YlAQmBD0Z8pu5h8VgEysANenwds3SJQwDwaz_k34Hb9oqVKLvGH0_fw7LK8CWGLjh7Y2bgEOGCWzt/s1600/teatro-articleInline.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 127px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYUUleYAxy3FucdcY2BJV-C9O6bM-Dn-nxAyRntosu31tEJvue0JsjvwAZiLCBqS-YlAQmBD0Z8pu5h8VgEysANenwds3SJQwDwaz_k34Hb9oqVKLvGH0_fw7LK8CWGLjh7Y2bgEOGCWzt/s200/teatro-articleInline.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475593090156696626" /></a><br />Monday evening was the performance of <a href="http://www.grattacielo.org">Teatro Grattacielo</a>'s <I> I Gioielli Della Madonna</I> (The Jewels of the Madonna) the 1911 opera by Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari. The venue, the Home of Jazz at Lincoln Center, a first for Teatro Grattacielo, was a perfect showcase for the complex work, with the huge choruses located in the boxes on three floors surrounding the stage.<br /> <a href="www.grattacielo.org/Wroe.html"> David Wroe</a>, an enormously talented conductor, took hold of the huge forces, which included a chorus of children (playing kazoos!), the brilliant soloists, a mandolin-and-guitar choir, and of course a large symphonic orchestra, bringing out from it a cornucopia of color, sound, balance and dramatic feeling. There are times when Wroe is so involved in the communication with his orchestra and performers that I feel it is an essential part for the audience to see as well! That is why his concert opera performances are so successful: he is the mainspring, not just the metronome. <P> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmjhaze8xJpXa7b4Tc0EOi9OoadI5P0DaMSbdlg5M6ZVyRFutj0Gq3SzAKLb3ov76Pv-XaY1UeJx_DCSjECMZsG-QF4ODo0X76sTgM2geRHLzSRLEEH_m_IrGNR9DIucn-iyKr1Xwcp_P/s1600/Madonna_Slice.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 57px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmjhaze8xJpXa7b4Tc0EOi9OoadI5P0DaMSbdlg5M6ZVyRFutj0Gq3SzAKLb3ov76Pv-XaY1UeJx_DCSjECMZsG-QF4ODo0X76sTgM2geRHLzSRLEEH_m_IrGNR9DIucn-iyKr1Xwcp_P/s200/Madonna_Slice.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475593483375535122" /></a>I thought <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/26/arts/music/26teatro.html?ref=music">Anthony Tommasini's review</a> this morning was splendid; not only enthusiastic, but perceptive, compact, and generous. I cannot believe (although it must be automatic) that the <I>Times</I> linked the word "Madonna" in the title to -- Madonna!<br /><br><br><center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3ZujYnQNZUMl8_EXoN5LAiBjZ8q3ea3uWblH2_jf56bi7gf8Q3V-WbpR96J2sXLfRQE5jRg4fhGexuYVY4_WzYJCY-5SOZlStLANPypjT5DqlwfNKsYojj8HnSXYT0cxCNSGKWyMFSzY/s1600/madonnatopics.jpeg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-3ZujYnQNZUMl8_EXoN5LAiBjZ8q3ea3uWblH2_jf56bi7gf8Q3V-WbpR96J2sXLfRQE5jRg4fhGexuYVY4_WzYJCY-5SOZlStLANPypjT5DqlwfNKsYojj8HnSXYT0cxCNSGKWyMFSzY/s200/madonnatopics.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475592728947019106" /></a></center><br><br>John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3237127509547893565.post-74517819207482187832010-05-19T07:50:00.000-07:002010-09-03T07:18:30.229-07:00Sprechstimme and Recitation<I>from the group, <a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Marschnerites/join">Marschnerites:</I></a><br />Richard Franklin writes:<br /><blockquote>"Quiz: What do the composers Marschner, Humperdink, Schoenberg Berg, Schrecker, and Weill have in common? Answer: Sprechstimme! To my knowledge and experience the first time Sprechstimme was employed was in the remarkable monologue of Gertrud (Act II, scene II of Hans Heiling, 1833). The monologue starts spoken (gesprochen in the stage directions) and then alternates between sung and spoken monologue - a truly electrifying moment in operatic history. </blockquote><br />This is a very interesting question, and one that I have often thought about in a different context. Surely words have been accompanied by music from time immemorial -- think of the Roman orators and the Beowulf poet, who spoke rhythmically, with a lyre or lute to keep them on pitch, even though this was not singing. Surely in the theater people spoke lines with music we'd now call 'background music' or even 'underscoring' (as the movies call it). That isn't sprechstimme, because Sprechstimme is a term used by Schoenberg in his <I>Pierrot Lunaire</I> -- and he may not have invented the term. But he has two paragraphs that explain in excruciating detail what he means by it, and it isn't easy to do! He wants the natural vowel of each syllable to be on the pitch designated, but not held, as you would in singing. (You try it). <P>However, if you listen to <I>Pierrot Lunaire</I>, and there are many interpretations as to how to do this, it does *not* sound like speaking at all, but *does* sound like an actor who is trying to hang his words onto pitches for the sake of having them carry in an auditorium. take a look at how it's notated:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJY8i_C6-WrfuBBZjNh2x7py18faznsNXNko07cW5pwxHjp5y5Cih8ENk6e2w22PgfdosoaZosxS9OqkMbgTKGCbn14MOQ-bG9Tn98yt9ts5LJ33Q0yDumNhvJ8lXaHLLE0BcacNt1SRZ/s1600/Monde.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 371px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJY8i_C6-WrfuBBZjNh2x7py18faznsNXNko07cW5pwxHjp5y5Cih8ENk6e2w22PgfdosoaZosxS9OqkMbgTKGCbn14MOQ-bG9Tn98yt9ts5LJ33Q0yDumNhvJ8lXaHLLE0BcacNt1SRZ/s400/Monde.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512688373579122562" /></a><br /><br />Each note has a little "X" through it, but the pitches are excruciatingly precise. <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwbRSsS4deIej9UqS85N6YtuQ_9bC-DlyW6-_wL-VQiRfq9c0FtKmtvBb5zRFugKyXc2_nfMzpaKc2ar3TKkjE2FzxI5aBypvUlD81qTEHcHuHr0RCoMzAQRnNvWUqwXYWiEdhWnXpjtu/s1600/notes.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 184px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwbRSsS4deIej9UqS85N6YtuQ_9bC-DlyW6-_wL-VQiRfq9c0FtKmtvBb5zRFugKyXc2_nfMzpaKc2ar3TKkjE2FzxI5aBypvUlD81qTEHcHuHr0RCoMzAQRnNvWUqwXYWiEdhWnXpjtu/s200/notes.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512691427212462290" /></a><br /><br /><br />A neophyte performer is utterly terrified that this is just not possible to do. It is a request that is totally new from a composer to a singer - way beyond simple speech. BTW, the notation for "halbgesungen," or half-singing, is a slash through each note (how exactly one does this isn't stated), and for rhythmic speech with no pitch desired there are a number of notations, from simply writing the words with no noteheads at all, empty flags with no heads, and notes with the blank "x" again as the heads. <br /><br /><br />Schoenberg also wrote <I>Moses und Aron</I> with Moses in this same speech manner. You can't be merely an actor to do this - you really have to be a musician and a singer, because of the rhythmic difficulties and the true interconnection with the orchestra and the rest of the ensemble. In his <I>Die Glückliche Hand</I> the protagonist does much of the same, but it's closer to singing, as in <I>Ewartung.</I><P>In <I>Lulu</I> and <I>Wozzeck</I>, Alban Berg's score is very, very explicitly written for all kinds of declamation - sung, half-sung, sprechstimme, spoken; he refers to Schoenberg and his intro to <I>P. Lunaire</I>, calling it "Rhythmic Declamation".<P>However, between these two extremes (the random speech with music under it, up to Schoenberg's 'Sprechstimme'), there is a halfway ground, and this is what I was interested in. <br /><br />There were, in those days before radio and TV, amusements at home and in the salon, where one would hear singers and pianists, etc. But at times there were enthusiasts who could not sing, and several very interesting pieces were written for speaker and soloist (piano) under it, with a very definite one-to-one correspondence, measure by measure, as to what was played and what was spoken. No less than Franz Liszt wrote several of these recitations, one being <I>Lenore</I> that Dietrich Fisher-Dieskau has recorded. There are many others out there, and I have begun collecting them. I have about 7 - even Richard Strauss wrote one.<P><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmESOBCEgMKcce7yNqKPLOsvAyi0zI92qrZ3g_VvNdOu1yqI53OUo4A2VWryAPGBPXM7zP3D6Y1zmqaIXE5uWd5L7EDMtOx5rfCb0pH7GayDImiqDbsloUhZxaOjoEXbnxX4TYfOx-LLhZ/s1600/475px-TN-Liszt_Musikalische_Werke_7_Band_3_104.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 158px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmESOBCEgMKcce7yNqKPLOsvAyi0zI92qrZ3g_VvNdOu1yqI53OUo4A2VWryAPGBPXM7zP3D6Y1zmqaIXE5uWd5L7EDMtOx5rfCb0pH7GayDImiqDbsloUhZxaOjoEXbnxX4TYfOx-LLhZ/s200/475px-TN-Liszt_Musikalische_Werke_7_Band_3_104.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472998825837709122" /></a>I do agree that the <I>Hans Heiling</I> scene is chilling, and one reason for it is the spoken vs. sung text; the other is the scoring, for contrabass But it isn't Sprechstimme, it's simply spoken, rather like the recitation in the Liszt piece, known as "melodram". <a href="http://imslp.org/wiki/Lenore,_S.346_(Liszt,_Franz)">You can see the score to <I>Lenore</I>, one of Liszt's melodrams here</a>. <P>When Rex Harrison was cast as Henry Higgins, he was despondent that he couldn't sing the part, and Fritz Loewe told him how he could do it in a Sprechstimme manner; and yes, that is rather how Lotte Lenya got away with most of her roles, even though Weill wrote them out completely, to be sung by other artists differently. Weill never really wrote Sprechstimme either - but in performance sometimes it comes out rather like that.John Muccihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14340815640133055932noreply@blogger.com0