“Apollo e Dafne” – George Frideric Handel
Richibi’s Weblog
Just another WordPress.com weblog
Category: opera
September 21, 2019
Piano Concerto no 1, opus 15 – Beethoven
Al Jolson, in “The Jazz Singer” (1927)
_________________
in order to abate my discomfort, my
consternation, after meeting up with
one of the candidates I considered
favouring in the upcoming election,
I put on Beethoven’s First, which,
incontrovertibly, from the first few
notes, did the trick, took me out of
politics and the uncomfortable
present, into metaphysical
pertinence, and magic
I’d referred to the issue of blackface,
a searing issue at present in the
media, I said, what about Laurence
Olivier doing Othello, Placido
Domingo doing the very same Moor,
not to mention Al Jolson doing,
unforgettably, “My Mammy“
but picked up that neither the
candidate, nor his mentor, standing
by his side, had any idea what I was
talking about
Placido Domingo, I said, one of The
Three Tenors, remember them
the aspiring representative indicated
a dim recollection, his accompanist
admitted to having nebulously heard
of him, them, somewhere
OMGess, I reared, I’m talking to the
next generation, maybe even the
generation after that, who have no
recollection, no understanding of
where I come from, it was, to say
the least, unsettling, discomfitting,
sobering
there was no one at home with whom
to commiserate when I arrived,
answering machines only at the end
of every line, I resorted, therefore,
not unwisely as it turned out, to the
said Beethoven, who was, as usual,
a lifesaver
listen
R ! chard
July 20, 2018
mass appeal, or “Missa Solemnis”, opus 123 – Beethoven
from the centre, the Hofkirche, the Dresden Cathedral, across from the
Augustusbrücke, or Augustus Bridge, extends into the Zwinger, one
of three only palaces in Europe, along with Versailles and Vienna’s
Schönbrunn, distinctly horizontally to the right, not to be confused
with a crook in the Cathedral, an intolerable, were it so, ecclesiastical
gaffe, it ‘s now become one of the most significant art galleries in
Europe, the green rooves, to the right still, are the Semperoper‘s, the
black roof, nestling before it, an unforgettable Italian
restaurant
before it all, majestically, the Elbe
_______
from the very Semperoper in Dresden,
where I’ll ever remember seeing the
worst “Barber of Seville” I’ve ever seen,
first balcony, left of centre, Figaro came
out on a motorcycle, I ask you, it was
downhill after that, my mom, beside
me, was falling even asleep, we left at
intermission, soldiered on to a
restaurant overlooking the Elbe, Italian,
if I remember, but utterly more enjoyable
than the disappointing operatic option,
there might even ‘ve been a moon at our
tableside window, picturesquely
shimmering on the river
but, hey, we both would‘ve stayed,
incontrovertibly, for this performance,
Beethoven’s “Missa Solemnis“, a late,
and towering, entry, 1823, in his opus
– second definition of that word, which
is to say, his entire output, all 135
opuses, first definition there, discrete
compositions – plus all his works
without opus – first definition again –
numbers, WoO
the plural of opus, incidentally, can
also be, both meanings, opera, just
to confuse things, I use either
interchangeably, according to my
narrative rhythm
missae solemnes, plural of missa
solemnis, are a particularly Catholic
form of music, going back to the
very Middle Ages, at which point
religious art was all that really
mattered, anything else was entirely
peripheral, of no consequence
but Catholicism, and its Protestant
offshoots, which is to say, their
common Christianity, remained
culturally entrenched during the
process of their slow disintegration
Nietzsche would, later, take care
of that, but that’s another story
Beethoven, Mozart, Catholics, if,
either, only by name, delivered
missae solemnes, while Bach,
Handel, both Protestant,
delivered oratorios, with some
intermingling
about which, later
Catholic, Protestant expression still
find, even strong, exponents at
present, though the form is,
essentially, outdated, our anthems
are national, now, mostly, if even
somewhat, that, halfheartedly, when
not, paradoxically, searchingly,
hopefully, and maybe even
revolutionarily, again, ideological
imagine “Imagine“ for instance, as
such, just click
R ! chard
March 11, 2018
comparing divas
“Diva I“
__
comparing two extraordinary performances,
as I am wont to do with any coupled exhibits,
which render always more than the sum of
their parts, let me let you consider an
historical record of a legend already with
that of one who is about to become one,
Bette Midler, 1971, doing the Continental
Baths, opposite Vesselina Kasarova at the
Schwetzinger Festspiele, 2005
the voices in either case are impeccable,
the only difference is the context, you
choose what you’re into
but let me tell you that Vesselina Kasarova
doesn’t give an inch, she puts on a show
that makes your jaw drop, trust me, it all
depends on your mood
Vesselina comes from a different epoch,
despite her contemporary production,
polite, flirtatious, modest, the 18th
Century
but her staccatos, followed by verily,
and however improbably, organic
legatos, indeed fervent, and
unmitigated, fermatas, are stunning,
a tour, as they say in such instances,
de force, indeed de maîtrise, de
mastery, wait till you hear the final
moments of her surely definitive
Glück, utterly, and incontrovertibly,
astounding
Bette is brash, in your face, needs to
get the attention of guys in towels,
1971, intent on more prurient
peregrinations than merely watching
superstars, however in the making,
strut their show-stopping stuff
both Vesselina and Bette achieve, I
think, their goal, each strikingly, and
unforgettably, each declares herself
indestructible, a very force of
propulsive nature
watch, watch, which, in your opinion,
delivers
ouch, both, either, I think
enjoy
R ! chard
February 13, 2018
String Quartet in B flat, Opus 55, no 3 – Haydn
“Queen Marie Antoinette of France“ (1783)
Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun
___________________
first of all, let me grievously repent an
egregious confusion I probably left
in my last diatribe, I said that the second
movement of the Opus 54, no 2 sounded
to me like a minuet, I had, through
embarrassing inattention, confused its,
however unmemorable, adagio with that
of this Opus 55, no 3, which I’d listened
to in too quick succession, driven as I
am by my thirst for epiphanies
the Opus 54, no 2 will do, but I’m not
going back for seconds, nor to the
Opus 55, no 3, though here’s where
I flaunt nevertheless Haydn, not to
mention Bach, Mozart, Beethoven,
all the way to eventually Bruckner,
Brahms, the extraordinary Richard
Wagner, passing through Schubert,
Mendelssohn, the Strausses, father
and son, and the unrelated Strauss,
Richard, another incontrovertible
giant, and I nearly left out the
unforgettable Liszt, all of them
forefathers of our present music
you might have noticed that these
are all Germanic names, obedient
to the Hapsburg empire, with
Vienna as its supreme cultural
capital, and it was that
Austro-Hungarian dynasty that
indeed nearly single-handedly
secured our Western musical
traditions
a few Italians are remembered,
from the 18th Century, Scarlatti
maybe, Boccherini, Albinoni,
but not many more
no one from France, but they were
about to have a revolution, not a
good time for creative types,
though, incidentally, Haydn was
getting Tost, to whom he was
dedicating his string quartets for
services rendered, to sell his stuff
in very Paris
then again, Marie Antoinette, I thought,
was Austrian, an even archduchess,
and would’ve loved some down-home
music at nearby Versailles
so there you are, there would’ve been
a market
the English had Handel, of course,
who was, albeit, German, getting
work where he could when you
consider his competition, he was
too solemn and plodding by half,
to my mind, for the more
effervescent, admittedly Italianate,
continentals, Italy having led the
way earlier with especially its
filigreed and unfettered operas
but here’s Haydn’s Opus 55, no 3
nevertheless, the best Europe had
to offer, socking it to them
Haydn’s having a hard time, I think,
moving from music for at court to
recital hall music, music for a much
less genteel clientele, however
socially aspiring, we still hear
minuets, and obeisances all over
the place, despite a desire to
nevertheless dazzle, impress
then again, I’m not the final word, as
my mea culpa above might express,
you’ll find what eventually turns
your own crank, floats your own
boat, as you listen
which, finally, is my greatest wish
R ! chard
January 30, 2018
January 30, 2018
“Moon Light“ (1895)
________
my mom texted me this morning that
the moon would be “BLOODY RED IN
COLOUR….because “, she added, “earth
🌏 will be between sun and moon …last
happened 152 years ago ….moon closest
to earth 🌏“
I haven’t told her yet that from my
window I’ll be singing, as the moon
rises above the mountains in the
east, “Casta Diva“, Norma’s song
to the moon
chaste Goddess, she appeals, who
bathes these sacred trees in silvery
light, bless us with your grace, we
are not not in need of it
maybe you’ll sing along
Norma is a Druidic priestess,
representing her community, which
has been overtaken, and is now ruled,
by the Romans, she bears already,
however, two children of a Roman
military official, Pollione, who has
fallen for her maid, Adalgisa, sparks
fly in every direction, both personal
and political, Adalgisa ‘ll keep the
kids eventually, and both Norma and
Pollione will go the pyre, the very
height of Romantic fervour, check it
out, it’s extraordinary, with Joan
Sutherland in this, dare I say,
classic performance
but first of all, “Casta Diva“ itself, by
the inimitable Maria Callas
and may the moon be your guide
R ! chard
November 21, 2017
Dmitri Shostakovich – “Symphony No 5” in D minor, opus 47
“Hi, XVII Congress of the CPSU (B)“ (1934)
__________
if I thought the Fourth would knock
your socks of, stockings, the Fifth
ought to leave you with, dare I say,
nothing on but your awe, it is
extraordinary, so settle in, pour
yourself a glass of wine, or vodka
if you want to be ethnic, for a
mesmerizing three-quarter hour
days only before the first performance
of Shostakovich’s new symphony, an
article showed up in a leading Moscow
paper suggesting that it would be “a
Soviet artist’s creative response to
justified criticism” in reference, of
course, to Stalin’s displeasure with
Shostakovich’s “Lady Macbeth of
Mtsensk“, which had led to the
cancellation of his Fourth Symphony,
read all about it here
disregard for Stalin’s opinion would
have meant certain execution in an
environment where the leader could
not be contradicted, the ruler wanted
uplifting tunes, the rule was Socialist
Realism, art to celebrate the Party
a similar thing was happening at the
same time in Germany, incidentally,
with Hitler objecting to “entartete
Kunst“, the degenerate art that
moderns were producing, Kirchner,
Klee, Dix, for example, who were
only painting, as Shostakovich was
only composing, what they heard,
saw, for which they were all
persecuted
a few necessary words about the
Fifth Symphony itself, if
Shostakovich had been moving
toward dissonance, you’ll find the
Fifth particularly notable for its
tonal melodies, however sometimes
astringent, more larger intervals,
sevenths, octaves, than strident
atonal conjunctions
and since Shostakovich had been
strictly adhering to the two other
Classical conditions, of tempo and
repetition, this symphony might as
well be a Romantic composition
listen to Beethoven’s Fifth and
compare, they sound nearly
identical but for a 130 years
distance, the peremptory opening,
loud, brash, bracing, followed
quickly by a lull in intensity, four
movements each, horns blare in
either military salvos, a propensity
toward dance rhythms, short, sweet
solo moments for several assorted
instruments, usually contemplative,
piercingly personal – after a
comparison, you’ll never see
Beethoven’s Fifth in the same light
again
Beethoven, however, though
forceful, indeed thunderous, is
more centred on the actual music,
which is jubilant, celebratory, an
exultation, while Shostakovich by
contrast, however equally martial,
sounds the implacability, the
ruthlessness of the fanfare, the
parade, you can feel the iron step
of the guard, their advance
inexorable, this is unquestionably
a political statement, then again
Beethoven didn’t live in France
it’s to be noted that both works
are products of a recent revolution,
the French, the Russian, and the
imminence of a Terror, as well of
the return of an autocratic leader,
the Emperor Napoleon in the first
instance, in the second, of course
Stalin
it’s helpful to view the bombastic
portions in Shostakovich, as the
unassailable positions of the Party,
the more melting moments and
single voices as those of the
oppressed proletariat, a people up
against the stringent requirements
of an unforgiving state growing up
all around them
a return to strict Classical
conditions, by the way, which is
to say “tunes”, might’ve been
Shostakovich’s way of placating,
however risky still, a dictator’s
fearful edicts regarding
permissible taste, that’s what
you can do when you can speak
the language
incidentally, the symphonies are
either composer’s Fifth, perhaps
not incidentally
R ! chard
psst: the applause at the first
performance, November 21,
1937, lasted over half an hour,
people were crying, they’d
found a prophet
November 17, 2017
Dmitri Shostakovich – “Symphony No 4” in C minor, opus 43
“Portrait of Joseph Stalin (Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili)“ (1936)
_________
if you’ve been waiting for a Shostakovich
to write home about among his early
symphonies, here’s the one, his
Symphony no 4 in C minor, opus 43 will
knock your socks off from its very
opening gambit, have a seat, settle in,
and get ready for an explosive hour
the Fourth was written in 1936, some
years after the death of Lenin, and the
instalment of Stalin as the supreme,
and ruthless, authority, after several
years throughout the Twenties of
maneuvering himself, cold-bloodedly,
into that position
from Stalin, “Death is the solution to
all problems. No man – no problem.“
fearing retribution after Stalin had
criticized his recent opera, “Lady
Macbeth of Mtsensk“, Shostakovich
cancelled the first performance of
this new work, due to take place in
December, ’36, others had already
suffered internal exile or execution
who had displeased the tyrant, a
prelude to the infamous Great Terror
the Symphony was eventually played
in 1961, 25 years later, conducted by
no less than Kirill Kondrashin, who’d
partnered Van Cliburn a few years
earlier in Cliburn’s conquest of Russia,
but along with this time however the
long-lived Leningrad Philharmonic
Orchestra
to a friend, I said, this is the biggest
thing since verily Beethoven, no one
has so blown me away symphonically
since then
he looked forward, he replied, to
hearing it
the Fourth Symphony has three distinct
movements, to fit thus appropriately the
definition of symphony, though the first
and third have more than one section,
something Shostakovich would have
learned from already Beethoven, it gives
the opportunity of experiencing a variety
of emotions within one uninterrupted
context, add several movements and
you have a poignant, peripatetic musical
journey, more intricate, psychologically
complex, than many other even eminent
composers, Schubert, Chopin,
Mendelssohn, even Brahms, for instance
it’s helpful to think of film scores, and
their multiple narrative incidents,
brimming with impassioned moments,
however disparate, Shostakovich had
already written several of them
let me point out that Shostakovich’s
rhythms are entirely Classical, even
folkloric in their essential aspects,
everywhere sounds like a march,
proud and bombastic, if not a
veritable dance, peasants carousing,
courtiers waltzing, and repetition is
sufficiently present to not not
recognize the essential music
according to our most elementary
preconceptions
but the dissonances clash, as though
somewhere the tune, despite its rigid
rhythms, falls apart in execution, as
though the participants had, I think,
broken limbs, despite the indomitable
Russian spirit
this is what Shostakovich is all about,
you’ll hear him as we move along
objecting, however surreptitiously,
cautiously, to the Soviet system, like
Pasternak, like Solzhenitsyn, without
ever, like them, leaving his country
despite its manifest oppression, and
despite the lure of Western accolades,
Nobel prizes, for instance, it was their
home
and there is so much more to tell, but
first of all, listen
R ! chard
September 2, 2017
on “Song to the Moon” – Antonin Dvořák
“Rising Moon“ (1964)
__________
the moon was out last night, grand
upon the starlit evening, either
waxing or waning, I’m not sure, but
not full, a gibbous moon, above the
buildings that scrape, in my big city
neighbourhood, in the very Cubist
manner, the night sky, see above
I’d been listening to Renée Fleming
singing Dvořák‘s “Song to the Moon“
in my head since I’d seen her do it,
on television, in a summer evening
concert at Schönbrunn, Vienna, some
few days ago, she, it, had been utterly,
sublimely, enchanting, I’m a Cancer, a
moon child, I speak to the moon
to the moon, I said, moon in the dark
heavens, who steal into every home
and hearth at night, find my beloved
and tell him what is in my heart, rapt
as I was in the spell of my special
planet, my personal orb, and the
enveloping Dvořákian magic, though
there’s been no beloved lately, just
trailings of the latest one who broke,
of course, my heart, which gives more
pathos, however, incidentally, to my
singing, I’ve giddily gathered
at home, I found Renée Fleming doing
the piece on the Internet, entirely as
splendidly, earlier, at London’s Royal
Albert Hall, September, 2010
R ! chard
December 1, 2016
Puccini on poets
“Cigarette La Bohême“ (1879)
______
with a friend today over lunch I told
her that we’d watched, my mom and
I and a mutual friend, “La Bohème“,
an Australian production of it, Baz
Luhrmann directing, a man we both
knew, at my place last Sunday, we
were all wowed by it, I extrapolated
the only opera I’ve ever seen, she
said, was “La Bohème“
where did you see it, I asked, and
when
with my first husband, she replied,
in Vienna
was it wonderful, I inquired
it was, she answered, I had on a
long dress, my husband was in
coat and, essentially, tails, we
walked up a very long staircase,
I remember
coincidentally, the first time I’d
seen “La Bohème“ was also in
Vienna, I can’t remember the
staircase, couldn’t remember what
I wore, can’t even remember where
I was sitting, what I remember, as
though through a telescope, darkly,
was Mimi and Rodolphe looking for
the key she’d lost, on their knees
on the floor, in the dark cause her
candle ‘d gone out, he’d put his out
surreptitiously too to join her
your little hand is so cold, he sings,
when he, unforgettably, finds it
in this production, Rodolphe has
found the key but conceals it
from Mimi until she sees it in his
eyes, he pretends to return it but
instead manages to hold her
hand
your little hand is so cold, he
sings, again unforgettably
there’s nothing to fear, he
continues, the moon is out, let’s
get to know each other
who am I, he asks, to start the
conversation, I am a poet, he
declares, and proceeds to tell
us what it is to be a poet
you’ll be utterly enchanted
tell me about a world, I ask,
without poets, tell me about
a world without poetry
where would we be without
dreamers, I wonder, where would
we be without dreams
watch here, and wonder
Richard
Richibi's Weblog 