Sunday, January 26, 2014

Sunday Classics: Finally we get to the Final Scene of "Carmen"

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Teresa Berganza and Plácido Domingo sing the final scene of Carmen.

by Ken

One loose thread we're going to not so much tie up as pull all the way out before we close up shop here is the Final Scedne of Bizet's Carmen, which we were headed toward ever so gradually in a series of posts that stretched out quite awhile and got us into the scene. But I had it in mind to continue through it, trying to explain, or describe, or just show the point at which the fates of Carmen and Don José intersect so tragically. Well, now that I'm past trying to explain or describe or even just show, I rediscover a large number of audio files I already made of most or all of this scene, clearly intended to be used at some point in some way that I never did figure out. It seems a shame to let them go to waste.

I could have sworn there was one more post, in which I just dumped out the whole scene, and I distinctly remember doing texts for it, but it appears that never got done either. And now I have to re-create the texts for the portions of the scene we didn't cover previously. There are links for all the posts that I can find at the end of this post.


FIRST LET'S REMEMBER HOW THE OPERA BEGINS

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Sunday, March 24, 2013

Sunday Classics: Remembering Risë Stevens

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Risë Stevens sings the "Habañera" from Act I of Bizet's Carmen -- I gather from a 1951 TV performance.

by Ken

As I mentioned in Friday night's preview, since Risë Stevens was an important exponenet of a number of roles that have commanded attention here at Sunday Classics that we've already heard a fair amount of her. For the most part, then, today's musical remembrance will involve literal remembrances, with the addition of a couple of items we haven't heard before.

The plan couldn't be much simpler: We're just going to revisit each of these classic roles from Stevens's repertory, starting with what I suppose must be considered her real signature role, Carmen.

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Sunday, December 02, 2012

Sunday Classics: More of Carmen and Don José, plus Sunday Classics revisits G&S's "The Sorcerer"

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The final scene of Carmen with Elena Garança (Carmen) and Roberto Alagna (Don José), directed by Richard Eyre and conducted by Yannick Nézet-Séguin, at the Met in September 2010

by Ken

Okay, here's the deal. I led readers to believe, in Friday night's preview ("'Between us, everything is finished' (Carmen)") that today we would "take (I hope) a fairly close listen to the Carmen-José scene" that concludes Carmen. I really did hope, but it's not going to happen. Meanwhile, up above we've got the whole thing, every damned note, and we'll have another performance -- in English! -- below.

As usually happens when it comes to musical matters that really matter to me, and trying to explain why they matter, I'm having a devil of a time, and I really don't want to give up without a fight. Yesterday when I got home from a New York Transit Museum tour of the 1904 South 6th Street subway power substation in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (still in service, though not as originally constructed), I got a little more work done on Carmen, but then I had to brace myself for the New York Gilbert and Sullivan Players' revival -- after ten years! -- of The Sorcerer, and I was faced with staying up all night to do some sort of slapdash job before heading off for my Wolfe Walkers tour of the Cloisters and Fort Tryon Park with Justin Ferate this morning. (At least I didn't have to travel far for that one!) Also, it was really cold in my apartment. In that discouraged state, I made the executive decision that for once no, I didn't feel like doing that. So I'm not going to.


BY WAY OF CONSOLATION PRIZE --

here's the whole of the Final Scene from the 1946 Hollywood Bowl English-language performance -- conducted by Leopold Stokowski, no less! -- we sampled Friday night.

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Friday, November 30, 2012

Sunday Classics preview: "Between us, everything is finished" (Carmen)

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Olga Borodina and Marcelo Álvarez as Carmen and José (Act II)

by Ken

We've been working our way up to the final meeting of the free-spirited (but also doom-ridden) gypsy Carmen and her onetime soldier lover Don José. This week we get there.

We've got a lot of performances of chunks of this surprisingly compact climactic scene coming up, but I want to highlight in particular two statements that define the state of stalemate Carmen and José have reached by the start of Act IV of Bizet's Carmen.


FIRST HERE THEY ARE IN ENGLISH (OF A SORT) --

which, as we'll see in a moment, is only sort of what they actually say. (I don't want to make too much fun of Ramón Vinay's English, which after all is no less idiomatic than most of our original-language Josés' French. The Chilean tenor was a wonderfully intense and humane singer in some of opera's most demandingly heroic roles.)

DON JOSÉ: "I'm not threatening you"
[rendered here as "I have not come to harm you"]


[in English] Ramón Vinay (t), Don José; Hollywood Bowl Symphony Orchestra, Leopold Stokowski, cond. Live performance, July 11, 1946

CARMEN says: "Between us, everything is finished"
[rendered here as: "For you and I, this is the end"]
DON JOSÉ says: "Carmen, there's still time! Yes, there's still time!"
[rendered here as: "Carmen, I cannot believe you! No, I cannot believe you!"]


[in English] Winifred Heidt (ms), Carmen; Ramón Vinay (t), Don José; Hollywood Bowl Symphony Orchestra, Leopold Stokowski, cond. Live performance, July 11, 1946


NOW HERE THEY ARE IN FRENCH (OF A SORT), AND
IN CORRECT ORDER, AND WITH THE ACTUAL TEXT --

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Sunday, November 25, 2012

Sunday Classics: All the major players in "Carmen" gather outside the bullfighting arena in Seville

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The Entr'acte to Act III is played by the Berlin Philharmonic under Gustavo Dudamel, with Emmanuel Pahud as flute soloist, at the orchestra's 2010 Silvesterkonzert (i.e., New Year's Eve concert)

by Ken

As I explained in Friday night's preview ("Enter the Toreador"), we're picking up on our look at the unfolding of the romantic obsession of the Army sergeant Don José, a Basque who has left his home in Navarre for the southerly latitudes of Seville, for the free-spirited gypsy Carmen, whose original interest in José was the very fact that he was one of the rare man who shows absolutely no interest in her. However, by the end of Act II, where we left the couple in part 1 of this series ("'And long live the music that falls on us from heaven' (Carmen)"), he was thoroughly under her spell.

We're going to move pretty quickly through Act III to get to the climactic meeting of the now-former lovers in Act IV.

BIZET: Carmen: Entr'acte to Act III

We already did the Act III Entr'acte pretty thoroughly in a February 2012 flute-and-harp post,and we just heard (and saw) it again at the top of the post. Well, here it is again.


Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Paris, Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos, cond. EMI, recorded 1969-70

Orchestre National de la Radiodiffusion Française, Sir Thomas Beecham, cond. EMI, recorded 1958-59


WE'RE IN THE MOUNTAINS NOW, IN "A PICTURESQUE
AND WILD SITE" WHERE CARMEN & CO. HAVE GONE . . .


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Friday, November 23, 2012

Sunday Classics preview: Enter the Toreador

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By the time Don José arrives at Lillas Pastia's joint in Act II of Carmen, we have a new player. Enter the Toreador. (Above: Aris Agiris as Escamillo at Covent Garden, 2010.
ESCAMILLO: Let's go! On guard! Let's go! On guard!
Ah! Toreador, on guard! Toreador! Toreador!
And surely think, yes think while fighting
that a dark eye is watching you,
and that love awaits you!
Toreador! Love awaits you!
ALL: Toreador, on guard! Toreador! Toreador!
And surely think, yes think while fighting
that a dark eye is watching you,
and that love awaits you!
Toreador! Love awaits you!


The high-flying French baritone Ernest Blanc sings the refrain of the first stanza of the Toreador Song, with Sir Thomas Beecham conducting Radiodiffusion Française forces in his 1958-59 EMI recording of Carmen. (Don't worry, we're going to hear the complete performance.)

by Ken

Even though in this Carmen series (begun two weeks ago, "'And long live the music that falls on us from heaven' (Carmen)") we're trying to focus on the romantic obsession of Don José, we can't ignore the other characters who intersect with the poor fellow's existence at this crucial moment -- most obviously Carmen herself, of course, but also the bullfighter Escamillo. For him Bizet happens to have concocted one of the most famous tunes in the history of tunedom.

In Part 1 of this series we had taken José up to the point of being the recipient of a special dance from the object of his infatuation when he meets her at Carmen's friend Lillas Pastia's joint on the outskirts of Seville -- just as soon as the young sergeant has been released from the brig for allowing Carmen to escape from his custody in connection with her stabbing of a fellow cigarette-factory worker. However, by the time José shows up at Lillas Pastia's, the dashing toreador has made an appearance, followed by his adoring throng. As it happens, the final stage of the relationship between José and Carmen is going to play out in front of the arena where Escamillo is toreadoring.

SO LET'S HEAR ESCAMILLO MAKE HIS ENTRANCE

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Sunday, November 11, 2012

Sunday Classics: "And long live the music that falls on us from heaven" (Carmen)

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Plácido Domingo sings the Flower Song at the Vienna State Opera, Dec. 9, 1978, with Carlos Kleiber conducting and Franco Zeffirelli directing. (The unheard Carmen is Elena Obraztsova.)
DON JOSÉ: The flower that you threw me
stayed with me in my prison.
Withered and dried out, that flower
always kept its sweet perfume;
and for hours at a time,
with my eyes closed,
I became drunk with its smell,
and in the night I saw you.
I took to cursin gyou,
to desting you, to saying to myself,
"Why did fate have
to put her there in my path?
Then -- I accused myself of blasphemy,
and I felt within myself
I felt only one desire,
one lone desire, one lone hope:
to see you again, Carmen, to see you again.
For you had only to appear,
only to cast a glance at me,
to take possession of my whole being,
o my Carmen,
and I was your possession!
Carmen, I love you!

Enrico Caruso, tenor; orchestra. Victor, recorded Nov. 26, 1911 (restored by Bob Varney)

Georges Thill, tenor; symphony orchestra, Philippe Gaubert, cond. EMI, recorded 1928-29

Jussi Bjoerling, tenor; Frederick Schauwecker, piano. RCA/BMG, recorded in recital at Carnegie Hall, Sept. 24, 1955

Jonas Kaufmann, tenor; Prague Phliharmonic Orchestra, Marco Armiliato, cond. Decca, recorded August 2007

by Ken

As I mentioned in Friday night's preview ('If you don't love me, I love you, and if I love you, watch out' -- meet La Carmencita"), we're putting our Mahler Seventh Symphony project on hold after doing the three middle movements last week ("Mahler's most characteristically 'Mahlerian' symphony is also his least loved"). (I can report that the set containing the Klemperer-EMI recording finally arrived yesterday!)

Instead this week we've started another two-part post, in effect a continuation of a series that began with a fair amount of still-not-completed poking around the two great operatic retellings of the story of Manon and the Chévalier des Grieux an then the famous Letter Scene inspired by the passion of Tatiana in Tchaikovsky's Yevgeny Onegin. The subject here is obsessive passion: first as shared by Manon and des Grieux, then as experienced unidirectionally by Tatiana, and starting this week going in the opposite direction, with the obsession of the Basque Don José, an army sergeant, for the gypsy Carmen.


LET'S QUICKLY REMIND OURSELVES HOW CARMEN STARTS

We've heard the Carmen Prelude and the entr'actes to Acts II-IV, back in March. The rousing Prelude is music that has entered the popular imagination. We hear it hear continuing on into the first statement of the "fate motif," which we've already heard attached to Carmen's hurling of a cassia flower at José's feet (which he would shortly after be seen picking up), and we just heard as the lead-in to José's desperately imploring Flower Song from Act II.

BIZET: Carmen: Prelude


Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Paris, Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos, cond. EMI, recorded July 1969-Feb. 1970

Vienna Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded November 1963

Orchestre National du Capitole de Toulouse, Michel Plasson, cond. EMI, recorded Feb.-Mar. 2002


IN THE PREVIEW I SUGGESTED KEEPING AN EYE ON
THAT FLOWER THAT CARMEN HURLS AT DON JOSÉ


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Friday, November 09, 2012

Sunday Classics preview: "If you don't love me, I love you, and if I love you, watch out" -- meet La Carmencita

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Keep your eye on the flower: We're in the square in Seville outside the cigarette factory where the charismatic gypsy CARMEN and the other cigarette girls work.CARMEN has just sung her Habañera (which we'll be coming back to in a moment) to the assembled soldiers and assorted other drooling males. As our excerpt begins she has been surrounded by a group of importuning young men. The only man paying no attention to her the young Basque sergeant DON JOSÉ.
CARMEN looks at the young men one after the other, leaves the circle they've formed around her, and goes straight up to DON JOSÉ, who is still occupied with his little chain. CARMEN throws a cassia flower at DON JOSÉ. He stands up abruptly. The flower has fallen at his feet. Outburst of general laughing.

CIGARETTE GIRLS [surrounding DON JOSÉ]: Love is a gypsy child;
it's never, never had any law.
If you don't love me, I love you;
if I love you, watch out!

The factory bell. The girls exit running. CARMEN exits first. The young men exit right and left. The soldiers and the lieutenant return to their posts. DON JOSÉ has his eyes fixed on the flower, which has fallen on the ground in front of him.

Chorus of Radio France, Orchestre National de France, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded July 13-22, 1988

by Ken

In just a moment José is going to pick that flower up, and then . . . well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Just keep your eye on that flower!

You thought we were going to be finishing up with the Mahler Seventh Symphony this week, right? Or rather starting and finishing up, since it's the hulking first and last movements that still await us after hearing the enchantingly weird three middle movements last week ("Mahler's most characteristically 'Mahlerian' symphony is also his least loved").

Well, for various reasons -- not least that I'm still waiting for that CD set I mentioned ordering which includes the Klemperer recording of the symphony, rather than working from my LP copy -- I'm going to put that off till (probably) next week, and this week start another two-part inquiry, which itself forms a series of sorts with our recent looks at the operatic retellings of the story of Manon and the Chévalier des Grieux and the unrequited passion of Tatiana in Tchaikovsky's Yevgeny Onegin.

I'll explain this better, or at least more fully, on Sunday. Meanwhile, as promised above, let's have our proper introduction to La Carmencita.

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Friday, March 02, 2012

Sunday Classics: Flute-and-Harp Week, part 1 -- in which we somehow hear Bizet's "Toreadors"

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Claudio Abbado conducts the Berlin Philharmonic in the ever-familiar and ever-rousing Prelude to Bizet's Carmen, known in the Carmen Suite No. 1 as "The Toreadors." (We've got an uncommonly fine performance coming up in the click-through. UPDATE: Actually, two uncommonly fine, and very different, performances upcoming.)

by Ken

How we arrived at the Carmen Prelude should be clear, or clearish, by the time we're done tonight. In fact, this post -- which started out life as a normal Friday-night preview and swelled into "part 1" of a pair of Flute-and-Harp Week posts -- turns out to be a festival of digressions. For just a moment, at least, let's try to focus.

AS SOME OF YOU WILL RECALL, WE RECENTLY HEARD
DEBUSSY'S SONATA FOR FLUTE, VIOLA, AND HARP


It was one of the Debussy works we listened to in connection with the panel of Debussy choosers polled by BBC Music Magazine as part of its celebration of the composer's 150th birthday -- chosen specifically by flutist Emmanuel Pahud. As I noted, this combination of flute and harp has a considerable history, and for that matter present, encompassing both works written for this combination, especially by French composers, and seemingly endless works arranged for it. Think of most any piece of music, and the odds are that some flute-and-harp duo somewhere has played it.

I can't say the flute-and-harp passion is one I've ever cultivated, but this seemed an appropriate time to poke at it a little. No, we're not going to do an exhaustive survey of the flute-and-harp literature Sunday, but we'll do something, and by way of preview I thought we could listen to two little pieces that i actually love -- both, as it happens, French.

Here's a first hearing of one of them, which as you'll see is going to occasion yet another digression. As I discovered while rooting out some biographical material on the performers, two of them embody a little story I can't resists sharing. We'll get to that too in the click-through.

BERLIOZ: L'Enfance du Christ (The Childhood of Christ), Op. 25: Part III, The Arrival in Saïs: Trio for Two Flutes and Harp (Performed by the young Ishmaelites)


Doriot Anthony Dwyer and James Pappoutsakis, flutes; Bernard Zighera, harp (Boston Symphony Orchestra); Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956

IN CONTRAST TO ALL OF TONIGHT'S DIGRESSIONS,
SUNDAY'S POST SHOULD BE A MODEL OF SIMPLICITY


As I explained, this post started out life as a simple preview, and I actually considered recasting just this much as its own preview-plus-main-post, but realized that it doesn't contain that much music! So it will have to stand as part 1 of a two-part post, with Sunday's part 2 remaining as planned. Since there's only one relatively compact work on the schedule, that post should be compensatorily streamlined and to the point. (Hey, it could happen!)


TO CONTINUE WITH TONIGHT'S DETOUR-RIDDLED
TREK TO FLUTE-AND-HARP WEEK, CLICK HERE

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Saturday, March 02, 2002

[3/2/2012] Flute-and-Harp Week, part 1 -- in which we somehow hear Bizet's "Toreadors" (continued)

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BIZET: Carmen: Entr'acte to Act III


In printed form: the first 15 bars of the entr'acte, in piano reduction -- for flute-and-harp duo until the clarinet and strings join in in bar 13. The performance is by the London Philharmonic under Sir Thomas Beecham (1879-1961), from their 1939 British Columbia recording of the Carmen Suite transferred and restored by Bob Varney. (Coming up we have another Beecham performance, from two decades later.)


AS PROMISED, WE'RE GOING TO HEAR TWO
FLUTE-AND-HARP-HEAVY WORKS THAT I LOVE


Actually, we've already heard them both: the trio from Part III of Berlioz's Childhood of Christ before the click-through, the Entr'acte to Bizet's Carmen above. I guess the Carmen entr'acte can't properly be said to be "for" flute and harp, but as we heard, it starts out importantly with them, and I don't think I've heard anyone make more inspired use of this combination than Bizet did in this haunting little act-introducer. Here it is again (and again and again).

I thought it might be interesting, since we've heard the 1939 Beecham recording, to hear the version from his 1958-59 complete recording of the opera. Disclosure: The Beecham-EMI was my first Carmen recording, and I still love its vibrance and color. I like the more serene, ethereal Prêtre performance too, and I was kind of blown away rehearing the Frühbeck de Burgos -- more about this later.

BIZET: Carmen: Entr'acte to Act III


Orchestre National de la Radiodiffusion française, Sir Thomas Beecham, cond. EMI, recorded 1958-59

Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Paris, Georges Prêtre, cond. EMI, recorded Dec. 1964-Jan. 1965

Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Paris, Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos, cond. EMI, recorded 1969-70
[In case you were wondering, the Beecham-EMi Carmen features Victoria de los Angeles in the title role, Nicolai Gedda as Don José, Janine Micheau as Micaëla, and Ernest Blanc as the toreador Escamillo; the Prêtre-EMI -- Maria Callas, Gedda again, Andréa Guiot, and Robert Massard; and the Frühbeck-EMI -- Grace Bumbry, Jon Vickers, Mirella Freni, and Kostas Paskalis.]

MOVING ON, OR BACK, WE'VE SPENT A LOT OF
TIME ON BERLIOZ'S CHILDHOOD OF CHRIST . . .


. . . most recently here. Along with Handel's Messiah it's a Sunday Classics Christmas staple, and in fact from the 2011 Sunday Classics Christmas posts we still have a promised Berlioz follow-up (still!) in the works. It's scarcely at all a "religious" work, as I long dreaded before I finally got to know (and love) it.

It's true that Berlioz is at pains to refer to "Saint" Marie and "Saint" Joseph, and to the family unit of them plus the baby Jesus as "the Holy Family," and certainly a central feature of the piece is the "celestial warning" vouchsafed to them, which causes them to flee to Egypt to save the infant from King Herod's "Massacre of the Innocents." Neverthess, in both the text and the music the composer pointedly doesn't treat them as saints or "holy" people, but as a struggling, poor young family that, faced with dire peril (see the 2010 post "In Berlioz's telling, unto us child is saved"), forced to flee the people who know and care for them (we heard this painful parting first in 2008 and then as part of the 2009 post "A Christmas miracle, courtesy of Hector Berlioz") and following their desperate flight across the desert are within a breath of death from thirst, starvation, and exposure, when at the last possible moment they are taken in by an Ishmaelite family, which immediately abandons all other concerns except tending to the physical needs of the unknown wanderers. "The children of Ishmael are brothers of those of Israel," the Ishmaelite Father declares.

There are moments of ineffable charm, as when the Ishmaelite Father asks the baby's name and, being told, responds, "Jesus! What a charming name!" Or when he discovers that his Israelite counterpart, like himself, is a carpenter. And then there's what long seemed to me a bizarre digression: a trio for two flutes and harp, offered by the Ishmaelite Father as sustenance for his now-physically-strengthening guests' needs. The standard explanation is that Berlioz had this trio in his drawer and found here a place to use it. But such explanations only explain the behavior of mediocrities. In the case of a genius of Berlioz's thoroughness, the point has to be why this seemed to him a suitable place to insert this trio.

It finally occurred to me that the piece begins to make sense when, instead of being played for "prettiiness," it's played for the crazy energy that underlies it. According to the score heading, as I've noted in the title, it is "performed by the young Ishmaelites." What this little performance is, then, is what the Ishamelite family has to offer their guests by way of diversion and mental and emotional restorative. Specifically, it's something shared by the Ishmaelilte young 'uns to their infant Israelite counterpart. (We all remember who he is, right?)

I'm not sure I've ever heard a performance that actually offers much of this. Certainly these don't. And I don't have the initiative to undertake a search of all my L'Enfance recordings to see if I can find one closer to what I may now be hearing only in my head. Neverteless, these are all certainly very pretty performances, of notably different kinds, and at least in the quick sections you can hear some of that weird energy I'm talking about. Now just try to imagine it carried over even to the "lyrical" sections.

BERLIOZ: L'Enfance du Christ (The Childhood of Christ), Op. 25: Part III, The Arrival in Saïs: Trio for Two Flutes and Harp (Performed by the young Ishmaelites)


Jean Chefnay and Eugène Masson, flutes; Annie Challan, harp (Colonne Concerts Orchestra); Pierre Dervaux, cond. Adès, recorded 1959

Doriot Anthony Dwyer and James Pappoutsakis, flutes; Bernard Zighera, harp (Boston Symphony Orchestra); Charles Munch, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Dec. 23-24, 1956

William Bennett and Paul Davies, flutes; Thelma Owen, harp (English Chamber Orchestra), Philip Ledger, cond. ASV, recorded December 1985
(You'll note that on this first page there's a repeat, which among our performers only the ASV team observes.)
DIGRESSION: ABOUT DORIOT ANTHONY DWYER,
JAMES PAPPOUTSAKIS, AND BERNARD ZIGHERA


Doriot Anthony Dwyer (born 1922) became principal flute of the Boston Symphony Orchestra in 1952, engaged by incoming music director Charles Munch to replace retiring 34-year incumbent Georges Laurent. At the time, a female orchestra principal wasn't unprecedented but was certainly rare. Dwyer went on to top Laurent's tenure by four years, retiring only in 1990. (I'm startled to see her first name rendered as "Dorothy" in the BMG anthology of Munch-BSO Berlioz recordings -- apparently available now only in MP3 download form -- from which this selection is drawn. The story goes that in her application for the BSO job she took pains to identify herself as "Miss" Doriot Anthony, to prevent any mistaking her gender.)

Dwyer was a splendid flutist, no doubt about it. But it's her partners in this performance who are the subject of this digression. When she joined the BSO, Jimmy" Pappoutsakis (1911-1979, born in Cairo to Greek parents who shortly thereafter relocated to Boston) was in place as assistant principal flutist, and remained in that post until his retirement in 1978 after a remarkable 40 years (!) with the orchestra, during which he established himself as a mainstay of the local music community. The photo, from the James Pappoutsakis Flute Competition website, is from 1967.

Following Jimmy's death "from complications of emphysema" a little over a year after his retirement, a James Pappousakis Memorial Fund was established, which since 1981 it has overseen the annual competition. In addition, each year the Memorial Fund commissions a new composition for flute, to be played by the finalists in the final round. The 2012 winner, announced just last month, is 20-year-old Jisun Oh; the second-place winner, Bethanne Walker; and the other finalists, Michel Dew and Hanol Lee.

The Munch-BSO recording of Berlioz's L'Enfance du Christ was made in December 1956, and thus almost exactly midway through Jimmy Pappousakis's tenure with the orchestra. The story I can't resist sharing, which links him and BSO harp principal from 1926 to 1980, Bernard Zighera (1904-1984), dates back to the beginning, or rather before the beginning. It comes from Jimmy's website bio, following a paragraph that takes him through his studies at the New England Conservatory of Music (NEC). (The photo below shows Jimmy in 1937, the year he joined the BSO.)
To sustain a living in the years following his graduation from NEC [the New England Conservatory of Music], Jimmy freelanced, taught privately and played in small opera companies, theater pit orchestras, and radio concerts in Boston and the surrounding areas. At a concert in the Boston Public Library in 1937, then BSO harpist Bernard Zighera attended a recital of one of his finest pupils, Miss Louise Came. Among other repertoire, this particular harp recital featured Louise performing a work for flute and harp with Jimmy as flutist. Zighera remembered the concert a few weeks later, when BSO conductor Serge Koussevitsky remarked at a meeting at Symphony Hall that he would soon be holding auditions for the position of assistant principal flute. Zighera spoke up and Jimmy was called to ask if he would audition. The forthcoming audition went well, with several standard excerpts, at which time Koussevitsky called for the 1st flute part of "Daphnis and Chloe" from the library. Jimmy surprised all with a quick offer to play it there on the spot from memory. The conductor was delighted and the position was promptly offered to Pappoutsakis. Incidentally, Miss Came eventually entered the BSO and the Boston Pops Orchestra (Pops) as harpist, and a few years later became Mrs. James Pappoutsakis. They can be heard together on one of the earliest Pops recordings featuring flute and harp in a performance of the Menuette from "L'Arlesienne Suite" of Georges Bizet.

TO RETURN TO CARMEN: I ENJOYED THE FRÜHBECK
PERFORMANCE OF THE ACT III ENTR'ACTE SO MUCH . . .


. . . that I couldn't resist extracting all four act-openers -- the Prelude and the entr'actes to Acts II-IV -- from his 1969-70 EMI recording of the opera (which featured the original spoken dialogue instead of the recitatives composed by Ernest Guiraud, but spoken -- given the exceedingly "international" singing cast, what with an American Carmen, Canadian José, Italian Micaëla, and Greek Escamillo -- by a disconcertingly different-sounding speaking cast). It may be worth noting that unlike so many Carmen recordings, even French ones, this one was made with an actual opera-house orchestra, with plenty of experience of playing the music in the orchestra pit in context.

Frühbeck's incisively vigorous way certainly isn't the only way to play this music -- sometime we should listen to Leonard Bernstein's Met recording (which unfortunately I'd have to dub from LP) -- but Frühbeck's performances of these orchestral excerpts strike me as outstandingly persuasive. And if the recorded sound strikes you, as it did me on this rehearing, as remarkably good, let the record show that the EMI producer was Christopher Bishop.

Note that the track with the Prelude goes on to include the first statement of the "Fate" motif, which is properly speaking part of Act I. Note too that all four act-openers are included in the Carmen Suite No. 1 (not) assembled by the composer): the Prelude (with the "Fate" motif) as No. 1, Prelude; the Act II Entr'acte as No. 5, Les Dragons d'Alcala; the Act III Entr'acte as No. 3, Intermezzo; and the Act IV Entr'acte as No. 2, Aragonaise.

BIZET: Carmen:
Prelude

Entr'acte to Act II

Entr'acte to Act III

Entr'acte to Act IV

Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Paris, Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos, cond. EMI, recorded July 1969-Feb. 1970
OH, WHAT THE HECK! WHEN ARE WE GOING
TO GET BACK TO CARMEN? HERE'S . . . LENNY!


Besides, what else do I have to do but sit around dubbing LPs for MP3 files?

You'll notice we're in a different musical world here -- not just broader and more spacious, but weightier and more richly and variously textured, with greater intensity and depth. Remember, I really, really like the Frühbeck de Burgos performances, which have what I can only call "earned energy," seemingly generated from within, rather than slathered on from the outside. But Lenny's Met Carmen wasn't like any other I've heard.

BIZET: Carmen: Prelude; Entr'actes to Acts II-IV

Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein, cond. DG, recorded 1973

COMING UP: FLUTE-AND-HARP WEEK, PART 2

On Sunday we'll hear Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp.


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