Youth orchestras from South America get huge publicity but even more remarkable is the story of the very first of all, before the term "youth orchestra" became current. It was the Uruguay Orchestra, organized by José Serebrier. "When I was still in short pants,” Serebrier says, “I took it into my head that I would create a Festival of American Music”. He'd started the orchestra when he was 11 and three years later they performed in front of the President and were photographed in the newspapers. In their repertoire they even had Charles Ruggles, Edgard Varèse and one of Serebrier's own works. Ambitious enough by any standards, but in Uruguay in 1949 this was truly remarkable.
Serebrier's whole life has been a series of amazing, remarkable adventures, but the story behind his own First Symphony is so wonderful that it's worth telling again, especially now that it's been released on a new Naxos CD. Serebrier is one of the most prolific conductors in the world, with over 200 recordings, including the celebrated Glazunov series and the famous recording of Charles Ives Fourth Symphony, generally considered "unplayable" at the time. Yet Serebrier is a composer, too. The Naxos release is a collection of his own major works.
At sixteen, Serebrier went to Philadelphia to study at the Curtis Institute. One day, while crossing a busy street, he bumped into a man and dropped the manuscript of the composition. "The stranger was a cellist, rushing to the airport to join the Houston Symphony. He instinctively asked if he could carry the score along to show to Leopold Stokowski,.... I had another copy, so I agreed, not expecting anything from this gesture. Few conductors would take such an idea seriously. A couple of days later, the Curtis telephone operator started giving me messages to call Mr Stokowski. I was sure it was a joke, as I used to leave messages for other students to call Bernstein or Rubinstein. Eventually, the Institute’s Director, Efrem Zimbalist Sr, called me to his office. “What are you doing? Maestro Stokowski called me to say he’s been trying to reach you urgently for two days!” We called from his office. There was this highly accented voice telling me: “We tried doing the première of the Charles Ives Fourth Symphony but it proved impossible. Orchestra can’t get past first bars. Need a première. Press invited: Time magazine, Life, UP, AP. We do your symphony première instead of Ives. Please bring music. Rehearsals start in two days.”
And so by a sheer stroke of luck, Serebrier's career was launched. He became Stowkowski's close associate. There are historic clips of the two of them conducting Ives's Fourth on Serebrier's website. which is worth looking at because it's lively, packed with information and down to earth - like the man himself! Not long ago., Serebrier recorded Stokowski's Bach transcriptions. We're so used to purist Bach now that the CD was a reminder of the freedom with which music was once made.
Naxos has released quite a lot of Serebrier's own music but the new CD is a good introduction. It includes Nueve, a concerto for Double Bass and orchestra (1971, two pieces inspired by tango, the "Winter" Violin Concerto and the new They Rode into the Sunset,- Music for an Imaginary Film (2009) Simon Callow narrates! Read more about the pieces HERE.
Karol Szymanowski and Pierre Boulez both have public images that don't reflect the reality of their art. This outstanding new recording should shake things up! Boulez first heard Szymanowski in Lyon in 1942 (conducted by Ernst Ansermet)."It was one of those Rite of Spring moments", he says.
Szymanowski's adventures in the Middle East opened his mind to new possibilities in sound and texture. Think of Islamic art with its intricate patterns. Geometric shapes that proliferate, ever expanding and evolving as if they have an organic life of their own. One could say that of Boulez's own music.
Most people outside Poland learned their Szymanowski from Simon Rattle and CSBO, because he's very good. But nothing could have prepared me for the lucid glory of Boulez and the Wiener Philharmoniker. This recording opens up whole new prospects, making a case for Szymanowski as a major figure in early 20th century music.
Szymanowski's Violin Concerto no 1 and his Symphony no 3 come from around 1916, when he was making a creative breakthrough. To quote Jim Samson, the foremost Szymanowski scholar, writing as long ago as 1981, "the orchestra is conceived rather as a reservoir from which may be drawn an infinite variety of timbral combinations....the string body...sub divided into many parts, further characterized by the most delicate combinations of arco and pizzicato, harmonics, sul tasto, sul ponticello and tremolando effects".
Samson's The music of Szymanowskiis essential reading, the most analytical and detailed commentary anywhere. Read his structural analysis of the first Violin Concerto. "The formal scheme is totally unique and represents an ingenious solution to the problem of building extended structures without resorting to sonata form". The almost chaotic proliferation of sub groups and themes within the orchestra are contrasted with extended violin cantilenas, soaring high above the orchestra, so refined and so rarified that they seem to propel the music into new stratospheres. Boulez's soloist is Christian Tetzlaff, who, even by his own exemplary standards, excels himself. Unbelievably heart rending yet poised. You "need" this CD if you have any interest in what a violin can do.
Szymanowski's Symphony No 3 "Song of the Night" is utterly unique. It was inspired by Rumi, the medieval Persian poet, and describes ecstasy so intense it can only be revealed in darkness, beneath star-filled skies. Again, Rattle is the foundation, while Boulez reaches heights one can hardly imagine. Steve Davislim, for Boulez, outclasses Rattle's tenor, and the extremely important choral ululations from the Singverein der Geshellschaft der Musikfreunde Wien could hardly be surpassed. This performance is so committed and so beautiful that it feels like an otherworldly mystical experience, which is perhaps what the Persian sages intended.
The score calls for a massive orchestra with organ and extended percussion as well as massed choir and a soloist with stamina. Because it's so overwhelming, lesser conductors (if they can hold it together at all), might be tempted to coast indulgently, letting the sheer size and exoticism of the piece impress audiences, Boulez, however, is much too good to coat this symphony in a veneer of treacle. (Neither does Rattle, but his orchestra is nowhere near as good as the Wiener Philharmonker.) Impressionist painters didn't muddy their brushstrokes, but kept them clear and defined. Boulez's legendary lucidity keeps Szymanowski's complexities clean, so the overall effect is sparkling,. The text refers to a night sky fiiled with myriad stars, shining so brightly the darkness is transformed. Szymanowski's Verklärte Nacht, but much more sumptuous and sensual.
To quote Samson again, "It is easy to appreciate the intoxicating effect of (the symphony's) ecstatic climaxes and floating, voluptuous harmonies on a younger composer such as Lutoslawski who claimed he 'felt dizzy for a number of weeks after hearing the work"". Boulez evidently felt much the same. which is perhaps why he conducts now when he has maturity behind him.
The CD comes in an elegant hardcover sleeve with a bonus disc where Boulez is interviewed in English, French and German. He's obviously been asked the same questions, but each time he adds something new. The French version's most detailed. The booklet that comes with the set is awful, though. The writer acts surprised that Boulez didn't start conducting until the 1950's. Of course not. A composer was what he wanted to be. And he thinks like a composer when he conducts, which is why he's so perceptive. Boulez absorbed a lot of different influences, including his mentor, Olivier Messaien, Bartok, Stravinsky, Debussy etc.so the idea of him absorbing Szymanowski on a deeper level doesn't surprise at all.
Please see my many other posts on Szymanowski including the piano music and String Quartets and Krol Roger. Lots on Boulez (and Messiaen) on this site, too.
Radical mother? Franziska, Gräfin zu Reventlow (1871-1918), Queen of the scene in Schwabing, heart of vibrant Secessionist Munich. She hung out with artists, writers and thinkers, but her art was life itself.
Reventlow's father was a Graf (prince) from Husum in North Frisia, where the flat landscape opens out to the sea, like Holland, only colder. The family was ancient and aristocratic. The name still opens doors today. Had Fanny (as they called her) chosen, she could have led a grand, comfortable life. Instead, she rejected it all at a very early age. No Romantic "New Woman" role model to follow, and a society much more repressed than most. Reventlow had to invent herself.
Gravitating to Munich in 1896, Reventlow landed smack in the middle of the hippest scene in Europe at the time. Jugendstil, and the first Secession, was invented in Munich a decade before it hit Vienna. Simplicissimus, the satire magazine, had just been founded, and the atmosphere was irreverent, progressive, innovative. Reventlow wrote for the magazine and others. But then as now, there wasn't any money in journalism, especially the avant garde who prided themselves in not playing money and status games. Besides, she was penniless, having lost her inheritance in a bank collapse. She wrote books, too, but also had to scramble a living selling other things, like milk, insurance (new industry) and herself. Prostitution, she reasoned, was no different from marriage, and didn't tie you down as long. Reventlow lived on the edge, scam marriages and all. Famously she posed nude for arty photos. On a beach, not in a studio, in 1900!
Soon after arriving in Munich she gave birth to a son called Rolf, father irrelevant. Most of Reventlow's friends weren't hands on parents or even hetero but Bubi the Baby became the mascot of their lives. Reventlow held breast feeding parties so they could watch in awe, the spectacle of The Eternal Feminine in action. Rolf was brought up free range. He didn't go to school, but had a good education from the adults around him. From photos it seems he stayed up nights at wild, drunken parties, but looked right and fresh. Perhaps the photos were posed to look wilder than they were and Bubi was protected as fiercely by his mother as a tigress protects her cubs. In 1914, Reventlow helped him escape conscription by rowing him across Lake Constance into Switzerland. Four years later, Franziska was dead, from injuries sustained in a bicycle accident. Read more HERE.
For all the freedom he was raised in, Rolf wasn't a typical hippie child. The circles he grew up in preached free love and sedition, but also valued committment.. During the Weimar period, Rolf worked as a left wing journalist with his wife Else Reimann. Rolf became a target for the Nazis who tried to assassinate him within weeks of coming to power. He fled, first to Vienna, then Russia and later to Algeria where he worked in newspapers, not returning to Germany til the mid 1950's.
Else had a rougher time. Forbidden to work by the Nazis, she returned home to Elbing in Prussia, now part of Poland. As a girl in 1917, she'd been a refugee from the Russian invasion. In 1945 she had to escape again, this time crossing the Haf (the huge lagoon near Danzig) in midwinter. Eventually she made her way back to Munich. Rolf is buried in Locarno with his mother but I suspect Franziska would recognized something of herself in formidable Else.
Everyone's been reviewing the new Madam Butterfly set in Bangkok where Cio-Cio San is a ladyboy. I won't, because reviews are irrelevant. Much more interesting is the very phenomenom of small scale pub opera. OperaUpClose is part of the completely alternative scene where conventional opera values don't count. So instead of churning out yet another "review", I'll ponder what this means.
Pub theatre has been happening forever - even before Brecht (who himself was reviving an old Munich genre). Like pub music, it's direct and unadorned. Usually it's pretty awful, but there's nothing like a bored, drunk audience for a reality check. Cliques exist, but not crowds of fawning luvvies massaging each other's egos and eyeing an MBE.
What pub opera means is that people who love opera - and the making of opera - have a chance to get out there and do what they love. Performers need to perform like fish need water and birds need air. It's not so much how "good" they are but how their enthusiasm communicates. The very act of performance helps performers grow and learn. Most of the people involved in OperaUpClose have to juggle their lives round so they can take part. But they do it because they care. That kind of committment I respect.
What OperaUpClose offers is a much grittier, experimental experience. Puccini's been adapted with a new, minimal orchestration (Danyal Dhondy) for piano, viola and oboe. No room for luscious wallowing, but what's left counts. The viola screams tension as Butterfly begins to realize she's been dumped. One player (Dhondy himself) but he has to be effective, and is. The melodies are less prominent, but this is hardly a drama about feelgood harmony.
The back room at The King's Head, Islington, sits less than 100, and the new text is in English. Diction wasn't a problem, but there were many in the audience following the libretto in the programme. Another thing about small scale opera. It reaches audiences who know nothing about opera at all. Personally I'd prefer a synopsis rather than libretto, so people listen and engage to the basic drama. The rest will follow.
Because pub opera is so low budget, the mind is concentrated on essentials. Instead, think things through from scratch. What's the opera about? How does it work, dramatically and musically? How can we use what resources we have in the best way?
Puccini's idea that geisha were bought like furnishings was more fantasy than reality. The Bangkok sex trade is only too real and destructive. Adam Spreadbury-Maher and his team of designers and producers have thought about the dynamics of exploitation. The transvestite angle is good. Making Butterfly a man emphasizes the delusional aspects of her personality. Even Puccini acknowledged that Butterfly was an obsessive who though the world should go her way. Ladyboys don't get that way by accident. This one (Laura Casey, Margaret Cooper, Mariya Krywaniuk) has a "history". Pinkerton's just the last straw. The idea fails, though, to make much sense of the rationale for the adoption, on which the denouement pivots. OTOH, Puccini wasn't realistic either - no way would an American couple bring back a non-white child in 1904. Not fair on the kid, either. A male Butterfly also makes Pinkerton (Stephen Anthony Brown, Mario Sofronio, Randy Nichol) even creepier. What does he really want the child for? Making him a pilot's a mistake - pilots don't stay away long and would get fired if their employers found out. Is London ready for Gary Glitter as Pinkerton? That would really be shocking, but apt.
Even if you pay £300 at the Royal Opera House, you might not get perfection. In any case, what you get connects to what you put in yourself. Notice how many people are involved. Three sets of primaries, lots of understudies as cover. Everyone chips in, multitasking. It's a co-operative learning process. Some of the singers had to learn a new skill - puppetry! This puppet's much simpler than Complicite's dog in A Dog's Heart but his hands are real hands. The singers aren't singing, but they're acting with their hands. It's moving, in every sense. That's why I enjoyed OperaUpClose. It's a continuing process of learning and developing. And that involves the audience too.
This is the most stunning Sibelius Luonnotar I've ever seen. The performance, by Karita Mattila, is exceptionally clear and forceful. Just listen to the piercing legato, projected so the voice could carry over thousands of miles, across even time and space. What makes this clip, too, is the video. Whoever made it knows what Luonnotar means and why she's the central figure in the Kalevala.
Luonnotar (Op. 70, 1913) must be one of the most distinctive pieces in the repertoire. It transcends both song and symphonic form. Fiendishly difficult to perform, this unique piece needs an appreciation of the very unusual mind that shaped it. Sibelius was at a crossroads. With his Fourth Symphony he was reaching towards new horizons but hadn’t quite come to terms with their implications. He was approaching uncharted waters and the prospect was daunting. As before, he turned to the ur-source of Finnish mythology for inspiration.
Luonnotar was the Spirit of Nature, Mother of the Seas, who existed before creation, floating alone in the universe before the worlds were made "in a solitude of ether". Descending to earth she swam in its primordial ocean for 700 years. Then a storm blows up and in torment, she calls to the god Ukko for help. Out of the Void, a duck flies, looking for a place to nest. Luonnotar takes pity and raises her knee above the waters so the duck can nest and lay her eggs. But when the eggs hatch they emit great heat and Luonnotar flinches. The eggs are flown upwards and shatter, but the fragments become the skies, the yolk sunlight, the egg white the moon, the mottled bits the stars. This was the creation myth of the Karelians who represented the ancient soul of the Finnish cultural identity.
The orchestra may play modern instruments and the soprano may wear an evening gown, but ideally they should convey the power of ancient, shamanistic incantation, as if by recreating by sound they are performing a ritual to release some kind of creative force. The Kalevala was sung in a unique metre, which shaped the runes and gave them character, so even if the words shifted from singer to singer, the impact would be similar. Sibelius does not replicate the metre though his phrases follow a peculiar, rhythmic phrasing that reflects runic chant. Instead we have Sibelius’s unique pulse. In my jogging days, I’d run listening to Night Ride and Sunrise, finding the swift, "driving" passages uncommonly close to heart and breathing rhythms. It felt very organic, as if the music sprang from deep within the body. This pulse underpins Luonnotar too, giving it a dynamism that propels it along. They contrast with the big swirling crescendos, walls of sonority, sometimes with glorious harp passages that evoke the swirling oceans.
But it is the voice part which is astounding. Technically this piece is a killer – there are leaps and drops of almost an octave within a single word. When Luonnotar calls out for help, her words are scored like strange, sudden swoops of unworldly sounds supposed to resound across the eternal emptiness. These hint of the wailing, keening style that Karelian singers used. This cannot be sung with any trace of conservatoire trained artifice: the sounds are supposed to spring from primeval forces. After the duck approaches in a quite delightful passage of dancing notes, the goddess expresses agony for its predicament. Those cries of "Ei! Ei!" – and their echo – sound avant-garde even by modern standards. The breath control required for this must be formidable. Singing over the cataclysmic orchestral climax that builds up from "Tuuli kaatavi, tuuli kaatavi!" must be quite some challenge. The sonorous wall of sound Sibelius creates is like the tsunami described in the text, and the soprano is riding on its crest.
Luonnotar is a complex creature, godlike and childlike at the same time, strong enough to survive eons of floating in ravaged seas, yet gentle enough to cradle a hapless duck. The singer needs to convey that raw primal energy, yet also somehow show the kindness and humour. The sheer physical stamina of singing this tour de force probably accounts for its relative rarity on the concert platform. Luonnotar swam underwater for centuries, so a soprano attempting this must pray for "swimmer's lungs".
The last passages in the piece are brooding, strangely shaped phrases which again seem to reflect runic chanting, as if the magical incantation is building up to fulfilment. And indeed, when the creation of the stars is revealed, the orchestra explodes in a burst of ecstasy. The singer recounts the wonder, with joy and amazement: "Tähiksi taivaale, ne tähiksi taivaale". ("They became the stars in the heavens!"). I can just imagine a singer eyes shining with excitement at this point - and with relief, too, that she’s survived! As Erik Tawaststjerna said, "the soprano line is built on the contrast between … the epic and narrative and the atmospheric and magical".
In his minimalist text, Sibelius doesn’t tell us that in the Kalevala, Luonnotar goes on to carve out the oceans, bays and inlets and create the earth as we know it, or tell us that she became pregnant by the storm and gave birth later to the first man. But understanding this piece helps to understand Sibelius’s work and personality. Like the goddess, he was struggling with creative challenges and beset by self-doubt and worry. Perhaps through exploring the ancient symbolism of the Kalevala, he was able in some way to work out some ideas: in Luonnotar, I can hear echoes of the great blocks of sound and movement in the equally concise and to the point Seventh Symphony. The year after Luonnotar, Sibelius was to explore ocean imagery again in The Oceanides, whose Finnish title is Aallottaret, or "Spirit of the Waves", just as Luonnotar was the Spirit of Nature, tossed by waves. The Oceanides, written for a lucrative commission from the United States, is a more popular work, and beautiful, but doesn’t have quite the unconventional intensity and uniqueness of Luonnotar. One of the things that fascinates me about Sibelius is the way he envisions remarkable new territory, yet pulls back as if overwhelmed by the force of what lies ahead. One day, maybe I'll writre about the Eighth Symphony and why he might havce withdrawn it at a late stage.
Luonnotar was written for, and premiered by the great Finnish soprano Aino Ackté. Given that she was a diva, I’m not sure what she would have made of the grittier aspects of the piece, but she was a Finnish nationalist after all, and knew its implications. Elisabeth Schwarzkopf was another early champion. When she sang it in Helsinki in 1955, she was moved to say that it was the "best thing she had ever done in her life". There is a clip of this performance but sound quality is poor, especially in comparison with Mattila. Schwarzkopf had guts: until then, most sopranos steered clear of this piece unless they were Finnish and weren't bothered about the savagery in the part. Later it almost became popular, though most of the early recordings until Söderström are unexceptional.
Soile Isokoski and Karita Mattila have both made it a keynote in their repertoires. Isokoski sang it dozens of times, but her best official recording (Neemi Jarvi NOT Paavo) isn't up to some of her live performances. I'm not quite sure which recording this Mattila version is but the orchestra is not in her league. I'd venture it must be CBSO with Sakari Oramo, who is a close personal friend of Mattila. Still, for that singing, one can compromise!
A life as extreme as Lucrezia Borgia's begs dramatic treatment. Donizetti's opera Lucrezia Borgia starts a run at the ENO from 31st January, but on 23rd February there'll be something Completely Different - the "first live opera in 3D" (as opposed to the first non-live opera in 3D which was ROH's Carmen which is being screened for the first time on 5th March)
Please read my review of the ENO production HERE (It explains the film/opera hybrid more clearly).
What makes the ENO fun is that it's visionary. This Lucrezia Borgia isn't an ordinary film of the opera but a Gesammstkunstwerk.. Because Lucrezia's life was so complicated and shrouded in mystery, it lends itself to cinematic ideas like flashbacks and parallel time frames. treatment. The photos come from a film of Lucrezia Borgia made in 1935 by Abel Gance, whose Napoleon (1927) is one of the most influential classics in cinema history.
Film director Mike Figgis has created 6 vignettes, filmed on location in Italy, and woven these into the production. His focus, though is on the opera itself. Please read this interview in the Financial Times, "Donizetti goes digital". Figgis says that his aim was to keep the opera intact, the vignettes forming frames to make it "even more like the sparkling jewel it is".
Figgis is famous for integrating the technology of film into his films themselves. "The Medium is the Message", as Marshall McLuhan said, where meaning expands from appreciating how images are created. No need to panic if you're technophobic. It's as simple as appreciating a sculpture knowing how it grows from the grain of the wood or the structure of marble.
The broadcast on 23rd February is also described as "The World's First Quadcast". The ENO has teamed up with Sky so the broadcast will be carried by Sky Arts 2 (HD), Sky 3D and live into selected cinemas in 3D around the UK. There'll be a deferred relay in 2D into selected cinemas internationally. The Quadcast element comes from the Sky Arts 1, broadcast directed by Figgis, and will allow audiences a closer understanding of his concept as well as including interviews with people behind the scenes.
So ENO's Lucrezia Borgia might appeal to technophiles who might have fun at first with multimedia, and then become hooked on the music and drama. But I don't think it should worry technophobes, either. The idea of blending stage and backstage isn't new in itself. Remember the outstanding Opera North film of Benjamin Britten Gloriana which turned the contortions of the script into a virtue and brought out the depths of Britten's vision?
Filming opera is undiscovered territory, whose language we're still learning. Decades ago, music was filmed with cameras rigidly fixed into position, musicians grimacing as uncomfortably as possible. But music isn't like that. Much better filmed music that captures its spirit and fascination. So, too, could well-filmed opera add elements that enhance and enrich the experience.
Lots more on this site about opera, film, and opera on film - please explore!
Francesco Cilea Adriana Lecouvreur on DVD at last! But the Torino (Turin) production from 2009. Read the review here in Opera Today. "If you can't wait for a DVD of the Royal Opera House production". OTOH for many, there's enough in the opera to make any performance interesting. Several regular readers here loved the Holland Park production some years back, for example, "John the Baptist to the ROH version". If the amazing MvVicar production gets filmed - they'd be crazy not to - it will be essential. The costs were so high, they'll need to make money from DVD. But thank goodness some houses still think in big, spectacular terms! If McVicar's Adriana Lecouvreur happens anywhere near you, whoever is singing, get there. Audio recordings too as well as this "stop gap" DVD.
Since I write a lot about opera, film and FILMED opera in particular please come back to this site later as I'm writing a biggish piece on the ENO Lucrezia Borgia which is being filmed in 3D. Hot on the heels of the ROH Carmen filmed in 3D last year and due for release in the US in March. Filming opera is a whole new dimension. It can completely change the experience of opera, so pay attention to filming. Don't assume filmed opera is the same as "real" opera whatever that might be. It's a whole new art form no-one's really thought about. Read my comments throughout this site and "How Film changes Opera" on Glyndebourne's Don Giovanni and the Mantua Rigoletto.
Broken Blossoms, D W Griffith's 1919 hit movie starred Lilian Gish. She plays a beautiful, doll-like waif who's horrifically abused. One of the most famous scenes is the one where the abusive father shouts at the child, "Can't you ever stop being miserable". So the girl, who has never learned how to smile, uses her fingers to hold up the corners of her mouth in a pathetic parody of a smile. It's so horrifying that I hope at least some audiences would have been shocked enough to do something about child abuse and the appalling social conditions in London slums.
Significantly though the film is titled "Broken Blossoms or The Yellow Man and The Girl". The Yellow Man was played by a white man, of course, Richard Barthelmess, made up to look like a cross between a caricature of a Chinese and Nosferatu. The audiences didn't know any real Chinese and were primed to believe in The Yellow Peril, poised to engulf the civilized world in opium, decadence and evil. In that sense, Broken Blossoms is as racist as anything else D W Griffith made, such as Intolerance where blacks are treated like apes. Of course racism was an inescapable fact of life. Although all involved were American, the film had to be set in Limehouse London, not, say, San Francisco, which would have been explosive. Audiences could pretend racism was something that happened in foreign places.
But there are curious twists in the plot. The Yellow Man was once an idealistic upper class scholar, who saw how the West had damaged China. Opium, for example, was introduced by the British who used it as an excuse to wage several wars on China and grab concessions. The Yellow Man decided to travel to the West to tell them about Buddhist values. Complete reversal of the Missionary thing, where western religion was yet another weapon through which the West could bully China. Quite amazing, this lone Chinaman, daring to leave home for the unknown. to "bring the message of peace to the barbarous Anglo-Saxons, sons of turmoil and strife". How many in the audience got the irony? How many spat indignant at the very presumption?
Anyway, Yellow Man ends up poor, isolated and defeated, but runs some kind of Jap For Po (miscellaneous goods) shop in Limehouse. One day Lilian Gish runs into his shop after being brutalized yet again. Yellow man looks after her reverently, calling her White Blossom though he doesn't actually speak. Bullying father kills girl and attacks Yellow Man with axe. Yellow Man shoots father (also a caricature) and carries dead girl back to his humble room, where he commits suicide, Meanwhile in China, a monk bangs a drum, and in London the police casually discuss casualties in the First World War.
Broken Blossoms is culturally hard to read because the image of the Yellow Man is so offensive and the scenes seem deliberately shot to make him look non-human. Because Gish is made to look about ten years old, there's the kinky frisson of "lustful" Chinaman. What did audiences think? Were they appalled or repelled? Did they feel sorry for the Chinaman or did it reinforce their prejudices? Even well meaning liberals had ideas about keeping the Chinese In Their Place. Missionaries wouldn't take kindly to the idea of a Buddhist reversing their role. How did Chinese audiences react?
Oddly, there were many Chinese stereotypes in western film, pro, con and neutral. The most famous is probably Piccadilly (1928) where Anna May Wong is the drop dead gorgeous dancer who is dropped dead for crossing race boundaries. In a sense, that's positive because it shows up racist attitudes,. But it also ultimately reinforces the idea that Chinese are fundamentally dangerous killers with no sense of decency. Ironically, a Southern Baptist like D W Griffith dared to go further, challenging racism, not confirming stereotype. Racist attitudes kept shifting. It was possible for Sessue Hayakawa to play "orientals" with dignity, even though he was often a mysterious villain. Much more on him one day when I have time. And because he was successful, he could avoid really offensive parts and move to Europe just before WWII when he would no doubt have been interned as an "enemy alien" in concentration camps for Nisei.
Lon Chaney senior made a speciality of playing both monster madmen and "oriental" villains, some more offensive than others. In one particularly awful film, Mr Wu (1927), Anna May Wong plays the servant. Thankfully, her eyes glare with contempt. The other ethnic Chinese actress (who appeared in numerous bit parts) simply averts her eyes and thinks of the paycheck. As for Richard Barthelmess who also shot to fame in Broken Blossoms? He starred in The Show of Shows, but not in the "Chinese fantasy". The following year he went on to make Son of the Gods (1930) where he plays a very handsome Chinese Man whom a white girl falls for. She thinks he's white so horsewhips him when she learns he's not. But she's so ashamed, she wants to die, and begs his forgiveness. Then it turns out he's actually white and was just adopted Chinese. Ludicrous, but that was a way to get around the Miscegenation laws at the time that prevented whites and yellows from blending. It's actually quite a sensitive movie despite the corny ending.
Subsequently, I've found out that the movie was banned in Hong Kong and shown in Shanghai with the shooting scene cut, and for only a week. (At the time Shanghai was divided between western rulers). That would explain why, when it was at last screened in 1970 none of the older generation had heard of it, though they knew Lilian Gish. In contrast, my father and his friends were all devotees of Charlie Chan movies, and China-made adaptations. Not so much for Charlie himself but his sidekick, played by a real Chinese, (ABC) Keye Luke, who continued to be a huge star in Hollywood. NHollywoord movies were big then : when Valentino died, some Chinese gilrs committed suicide too. Big scandal. There's plenty on this site about Chinese movies, cross cultural mixes, Eurasians, Chinese culture etc, please search. Some full downloads as well.
Mozart Marathon on the BBC has yielded some good moments, amid mindless chatter. Some of the talk shows are informative, but much is filler. The BBC has to aim at the generalist, not specialist market, but "too" general is tricky. Presenters who know and genuinely know the subject, please, not just pretty faces (male and female) But still, musically there are good things.
I was surprised how much I enjoyed the oratorio Die Schuldigkeit des ersten Gebots (available online til Sunday), written when the composer was only eleven. Some good ideas there like sudden flourishes, especially in the soprano part that make you jump til you remember it's a small boy's idea of high jinks. Often it's very studied, which is hardly surprising since Mozart (and his Dad) are showing how clever they are but it's lighthearted and charming. Not bad for a depiction of the First Commandment! Hans-Peter Blochwitz, Aldo Baldin, Margaret Marshall, Inge Neilsen, Ann Murray, Sir Neville Marriner, Stuttgart. Naturally, in this BBC Marathon, it's paired with Apollo et Hyacinthus in the well known recording with Arleen Auger and Anthony Rolfe Johnson.
Other rarities are hidden in "Through the Night" broadcasts. Ascanio in Alba K 111 on 5/1, Il sogno di Scipione K 126 on 6/1, and late tonight Il re pastore. I've been hunting for Mozart song, but searching is difficult. Because there's so much, it's a good idea to be selective, choosing things that aren't easily available on the market. On the other hand, who could resist Nikolas Harnoncourt, Concertus Musica Wien, La finta Giardiniera with Moser, Gruberova et al? More historic Harnoncourt tomorrow (Fri 7/1) Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail. Peter Schreier in 1988, my hero, always full of character.
Saturday Night is a double bill Le Nozze di Figaro and La Clemenza di Tito. First, Andrew Davis, Chicago Lyric Opera and second, René Jacobs, Freiburg Baroque Orchestra., Two very different approaches, which makes for a good contrast. Mark Padmore, Bernarda Fink, Pendatchanska and Marie-Claude Chappuis in the latter make Jacobs/Freiburg the one for me.
One extra anecdote which proves why exposing kids to Mozart pays off. I took my kids to Mozart's Birthplace in Salzburg when they were tiny. Paintings on the walls, little furniture, and thankfully not re-designed for "kid appeal". One of my kids walked around, confidently identifying the portraits. "That's Mozart's sister", "That's Mozart's Dad". Really impressive, other tourists turned round. "How did you know" I asked. "Saw it in a book you were reading" says preschool pipsqueak.
Kate and Mate are riding in a glass carriage after their Royal wedding. In the fairy tale the coach turns back into a pumpkin at midnight. It's not the trappings that make a marriage but the pair involved, so good luck to them as individuals. And also to Zara and her man who both glow with so much genuine happiness that glitter would be irrelevant.
London will be impassable and impossible. So the pumpkin falls on me! I've had tickets to Maurizio Pollini at RFH since they went on sale months ago, because he's playing Boulez Piano Sonata no 2. It's brilliant, he's brilliant. But imagine the traffic thru Hyde Park, the Mall and Westminster Abbey. And the security, and the crowds! So any brave heart, please let me know if you'd like to go.(expensive)
Monteverdi and Italian baroque masters materialize in Spitalfields, London, an area which one might charitably call rough. Bars all round, noise, traffic and drunks, The church itself has been under renovation for years. But in this unpromising setting, the Spitalfields music festival thrives.
Tomorrow, Wednesday 5th La Venexiana and their director, Claudio Cavina, specialists in Italian baroque, present a concert of Monteverdi madrigals - this should be good as La Venexiana are very well established in their field. This is their first time at Spitalfields.
Friday 7th is an all -day Monteverdi Exploration. At 10.30 am there's a special presentation for primary schools on Monteverdi's Seventh Book of Madrigals. Primary schools? Yes, and why not? Properly done the concert plus narration could inspire kids too young to have been brainwashed into thinking they can't somehow like classical music, even something as relatively esoteric as Monteverdi. This may well be the event to attend, just to see how the kids react.
Two concerts that evening : Exaudi at 6.30pm, always exciting, singing Madrigals Book 3. Later at 8.30 pm Retrospect Ensemble perform instrumental music by Monteverdi and his contemporaries. In between, on Thursday, Paul Agnew will give a concert performance of Orfeo Act V with Mahan Esfahani, David Miller and Jonathan Manson (harpsichord, theorbo, gamba). Charpentier, Caccini and Lanier, too.
It's interesting when you get to know an opera through recordings and then come to a filmed version. Karol Szymanowski's Krol Roger became famous outside Poland (where it's now regular repertoire) when Simon Rattle recorded it, while he was still in Birmingham. Thomas Hampson sings the King, reason itself for making it a classic. Highly recommended too is the 2004 recording from Warsaw conducted by Jacek Kaspszyck. That has Piotyr Beczala as the Shepherd - divine!
This new DVD, from the Bregenzer Festspeile in 2009, has its merits. Mark Elder conducts the Wiener Symphoniker, so orchestrally this is good, clean and clear. However, after having heard Pierre Boulez's recent recording of Szymanowski, no-one else stands comparison. (Amazing recording, review to follow) Vocally, this Bregenzer performance doesn't break new ground, either, though it's pleasant enough. Scott Hendriks sings the King, Olga Pasichnyk Roxana the Queen and Will Hartmann is the Shepherd. Pasichnyk's Roxana Song is gorgeous, and cuts sublimely through all round her. Goosebumps!
The downside of this DVD, though, is the production, directed by David Pountney. The First Act's Byzantine marble church becomes a series of cool "marble" steps with funnels of crystal that emit coloured light. Elegant, perhaps evoking art deco lines, though the style's a little early for the opera, which Szymanowski started in 1918. Nonetheless, it's attractive and fits the idea of a Court and Church desiccated by formality, described in the libretto. The Court worships a chaste Christ and don't take kindly to the alternative "Good Shepherd" who appears. This Shepherd's God holds grapes in his hands and wears a headdress of ivy : Dionysius, though the text doesn't name him. In Pountney's production the mysterious forest groves and pools are created through green light
Even more shocking is the Shepherd's claim that his God is "as beautiful as I am". Roxane almost immediately succumbs and later willingly sacrifices herself to this new God that praises lust. Krol Roger, being King, has a responsibility to the old God, so takes a while longer to to react. Eventually, he too declares for the Shepherd. The cool marble hall then becomes a giant melamine chopping block, everyone covered in fake blood with dancers dressed in animal heads. It's not nearly as abattoir-like as might seem, and certainly the text refers to blood sacrifice.
But why? What does Szymanowski mean? His many references to Byzantium, to "lotus flowers" and the exotic East are easy to understand in the context of his work as a whole. Maybe the Shepherd represents a more sensual alternative to mainstream Christianity . By cloaking the Shepherd in gold and circling him with fire, perhaps Pountney wants us to think of him as a brazen idol. But why should the King be so disturbed? There's a strong homo-erotic undercurrent. Certainly Edrisi, the King's adviser, hints that the King doesn't really connect to the Queen in ways that matter. She pops up from between his legs, singing her elusive song. The costumes (Marie-Jeanne Lecca) tell the story. The shepherd appears in a red dress similar to the Queen's, complete with rose (symbolic in the text) and Krol Roger is gradually seduced, until he, too, wears a facsimile of the gown. Why Roxanne's bony and bald, I'm not sure, but it destroys her femininity. At the end, Krol Roger plucks his heart from his breast, symbolically united with the morning sun. Christ, Church and Kingdom, all sacrificed.
Having learned the opera from good recordings I guess I've developed images in my imagination that derive from the freakily hyper exotic colours in the music and haven't worried too much about why. Each new production means taking on board someone else's point of view which is valid enough in this case. But I suspect it exposes something in Szymanowski's vision. He was probably gay in a society which even now is homophobic. The deliberately anti-Christian message of this opera wouldn't sit well with devoutly Catholic Poland. Definitely not Pope John Paul II's style. Nor too popular with Communists, either. But what makes it such a seductive vision is the music. It's so beautiful that it makes everything seem possible, however illogical or kinky. photos : Karl Forster, Bregenz Festspiele
Since filmed opera is everywhere, maybe it's time we really thought about what really happens when a production is filmed. Don't assume that film reflects what's really going on! Filming is a whole extra layer of interpretation, it can enhance or destroy. We need to think about it carefully.
Glyndebourne's Don Giovanni was a fascinating exercise in how alert, flexible staging can bring out the alert, flexible character in an opera. Seeing the filmed version was a completely different experience. It was as if they'd used a single fixed position camera and shot ahead, regardless of what was actually going on. Haven't film techniques progressed since 1935? Don Giovanni gets away with things because he's always ahead of the game, shifting quickly. This film was so narrow focus that there wasn't any context, just soulless anonymity.Result, dull and witless, which is not Don Giovanni at all.
Live on stage, the scene where the Commendatore gets killed was claustrophobic, the old man trapped just as Don G will be trapped later. On film, nothing. Nowhere the elegant panache that was visible on stage, only relentless one-dimensional flatness. Nearly everything shot in close ups, which benefit Finley and Kate Royal (especially). But there was so much more to the "real" Glyndebourne Don Giovanni than this. If audiences forever think Glyndebourne did Don G as The Third Man, it's the fault of this film, not what really happened.
In complete contrast, what fun were repeat viewing of RAI's Verdi Rigoletto from Mantua First time round the opera was spread out in three parts over two days, to accurately follow stage directions. Result, dramatic thrust was lost. Experienced as "normal" opera without breaks or mindless chatter, this Rigoletto is infinitely more enjoyable. This time round it flows naturally, like an exquisitely superior movie, beautifully shot, framed and lit, with, of course the ultimate in background stage design. Real palace, real tapestries, real frescoes and real gold gilding. The film makers also had the brains not to overdo the decor at the expense of the drama. If you really want to look at the ceilings, freeze frame in your own time. Indeed, in the Third Act, the setting makes sense - Rigoletto and Gilda really can see and hear what's going on nearby without being spotted. They're across an alley. No contorted stage design needed.
Bellocchio, Storaro and Andermann, who created this unique Rigoletto, are film makers who think big, and in cinematic terms. I don't think there will ever be a filmed version as expansive and as ambitious as this, so it needs to be seen for that sake. Because the creators are movie people, they also add insights conventional stage might not do. The Personenregie benefits. The group ensembles in the First Act are well blocked and thoughtful. The shifting angles mean you can feel how the group moves. Rigoletto is almost drowned in the mass.
The flexibility of film also helps expand character. Gilda, for example, is so odd she's probably nuts. Yet here she's seen as a product of a distorted religious upbringing, so the martyrdom seems to come naturally. Beloved Placido may not be technically perfect vocally, but neither is Rigoletto. No need for a stagey humpback. Domingo creates character with his voice. That's what makes him interesting - a man who overcomes obstacles. Close ups are used sparingly but for definite purpose, as the film makers resist the temptation to make him the sole centre of attention. And my goodness, is Domingo good as an actor !
Before this Rigoletto was screened first time there was a lot of negativity about what was "real" technologically. The massive publicity didn't help either. But seeing this Mantua Rigoletto several times over in more relaxed circumstances reveals it as much better than it seemed at first. It's cinema, not "opera" with the usual constraints. And on that level, it works magnificently. Catch it again until Saturday online and on demand and get the eventual DVD. It's more enjoyable the more you watch, and appreciate the film making skill that went into it.
It's Vienna, it's the Goldener Saal and Kurt Waldheim is in the audience. It's a modern Chinese Orchestra from Shanghai playing a mainly Chinese repertoire on Chinese instruments. But what's this? Wait. Why are they strumming their pipas like guitars .And today I had a Ghanaian lunch with abun-abun (spinach cooked with spices, garlic and chili).
Broadcast live on German radio.ARD.de, at 17.59 German time on New Year's Day, Debussy Pelléas et Mélisande. Look who the singers are - Stéphane Degout, Magdalena Kožená, Gerald Finley, Felicity Palmer and Willard White. Sir Simon Rattle conducts live from the Met. Fortunately it's audio only as the production is ancient Jonathan Miller. Rattle's Pelléas et Mélisande.is wonderful, so listen if you can. A few years back he conducted it in Berlin and London : stunningly vibrant, especially the Berlin performance, one of the best I've heard. What a stellar cast, too. Degout 's impressed before, and most recently as Mercutio in Gounod’s Roméo et Juliette at the Royal Opera House. He is doing an ambitious recital at the Wigmore Hall in February, part of the Wigmore Hall Festive Sale series, filled with good things (follow link). Enjoy the broadcast (not repeating) and retain a souvenir for strictly private use maybe?
