Sunday, November 06, 2016

My envoi for this Election Day -- is this how the system all comes crashing down?

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You can check out the Election Day special to end all Election Day specials here.

by Ken

Since, barring unforeseen developments, this is my last post before Election Day -- but lucky me, I'm gonna hafta find something to say in the rubbble of the Day After -- and even if I have anything more to say on the subject I don't see any point in trying to say it, I'm going to go with my favorite election envoi, as pictured above.

Now I want to stress that this doesn't constitute a promotion for or endorsement of Opera Depot, which offers roughly a zillion classical (mostly operatic, of course) live performances. As it happens, I've been pretty happy with the stuff I've bought from them, but that's not why we're here today. We're here because I couldn't resist this special promotion running through Tuesday, linking Election Day to Götterdämmerung -- Twilight of the Gods, the culminating opera of Richard Wagner's cycle The Ring of the Nibelung. And on offer at the same time is a free download (Opera Depot offers more or less weekly free downloads; yes, of complete operas!), of the 1961 Bayreuth Festival performance of the opera.
(It's conducted by Rudolf Kempe, in his second summer conducting The Ring at Bayreuth, with Birgit Nilsson as Brünnhilde, Hans Hopf as Siegfried, Gottlob Frick as Hagen, Thomas Stewart as Gunther -- and an interesting frill, Régine Crespin as the Third Norn. I had actually ordered this performance from OD, partly to hear Crespin. I'm still dreaming of hearing a soprano sing this super-challenging role as fully and freely as it's clearly meant to be sung.)

SO IS THIS HOW THE WHOLE SYSTEM COMES CRASHING DOWN?


Here's the final scene of Götterdämmerung from the video recording of the 1976-80 Bayreuth production staged by Patrice Chéreau and conducted by Pierre Boulez, with Gwyneth Jones as Brünnhilde, Jeannine Altmeyer as Gutrune, and -- at the end -- Fritz Hübner as Hagen and Norma Sharp, Ilse Gramatzki, and Marga Schiml as the Rhine Maidens Woglinde, Wellgunde, and Flosshilde. The section we know as Brünnhilde's Immolation Scene begins at 3:10. Feel free, though, for our immediate purposes to advance directly to the end of the world order as we've known it -- at, say, 17:10.


BUT SERIOUSLY, FOLKS --

There are some really good people running Tuesday, and a fair number of pretty good people -- whose election would leave us better off than their defeat. And then there are some unimaginably horribly people who ever so urgently need to be defeated.
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Sunday, January 04, 2015

Sunday Classics inquiry: How can Mime solve his problem?

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WAGNER: Siegfried: Act I Prelude


Vienna Philharmonic, Georg Solti, cond. Decca, May and Oct. 1962

Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Daniel Barenboim, cond. Teldec, recorded live, June-July 1992

Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. DG, recorded Dec. 1968 and Feb. 1969

Sadler's Wells Opera Orchestra, Reginald Goodall, cond. EMI-Chandos, recorded live, August 1973

by Ken

by Ken

I would have liked, but couldn't find, a nice image of a darkened theater to accompany these miraculous opening pages of Siegfried, the third installment in Wagner's cycle The Ring of the Nibelung, mostly occupied with music associated with the dwarflike Nibelungs, plunging us into the crisis faced by the Nibelung we will re-meet when the curtain rises, Mime (that's two syllables: MEE-muh), the brother of "the" Nibelung, Alberich, the Nibelung of the title.

This is such amazing,music, starting with that weird trio for two bassoons and bass tuba over hushed timpani, punctuated by those stabbing fluorishes first from the cellos, then from the violas. It's music that's murky, growly, mysterious, music that seems to me to demand a heightening of all the senses -- and above all of the imagination, for both performers and listeners. From the performers' standpoint, this is where your musicianship and musicianly instincts are tested, or rather exploited.

You'd have to be a real dunderhead to miss the potent brew of expectation and dread trembling to life here. As it happens, I heard just such a dunderheaded performance; that's one of two recent encounters that I want to tell you a little about, encounters that landed us here at the start of Siegfried, the third installment in Wagner's Ring of the Nibelung.

I don't think any of our conductors here have anything to apologize for. Though I've arranged them in order of increasing range of inquisitiveness, Solti's performance seems to me quite lovely, alert and shiveringly alive. Barenboim, however, hears somewhat darker colors, and a more foreboding tread. Then Karajan really digs in, and finally Goodall takes the most searching view, taking nothing for granted here.


I HAD AN EXCHANGE WITH A NEW READER --

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Friday, December 14, 2012

Sunday Classics preview: Three "K"s -- remembering three conductors who were great artists

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The gossamer "Ballet of the Sylphs" from Berlioz's Damnation de Faust is played by the Philharmonia Orchestra conducted by Rafael Kubelik in this 1950 EMI recording, from a four-CD Kubelik "Portrait," one of the treasures that came out of my nearly 17-pound Berkshire Record Outlet carton this week.

by Ken

I'd been good for so long. Oh sure, I usually scanned the new classical overstock and cut-out listings on the Berkshire Record Outlet website most every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and sure, I dumped stuff in my shopping cart. But that didn't commit me to anything, and I figured that by and large the things that interested me would interest enough other site followers that they would soon enough go out of stock -- "soon enough" in this case being "in time to protect me from actually buying them."

Every now and then, something appears that (a) I really want and (b) I know can't remain in stock very long. Which happened just recently with a CD issue -- finally! -- of the not-quite-complete series of Beethoven string quartets recorded by the Paganini Quartet for RCA Victor between 1947 and 1953. Not only have these never been on CD; I'm not aware of them ever being reissued on LP. And in fact, all the LP copies I've ever come across have been really chewed up. They may not have sold a huge number of copies, but the people who bought them apparently played the heck out of them.

What that means, when there's an item I really want, is that I have to take a look at my shopping cart, to see what might still be available. And apparently it had been long enough since my last order that, even though yes, a fair number of things I'd dumped in had indeed gone out of stock, there was a heckuva a lot of stuff still poised for purchase. I started studying the list like it was a work of scholarship, or maybe a primary source document. I tried everything in my powers (which unfortunately include only a small store of willpower) to jettison items to get the order down to manageable size. But still there remained something like 46 other items (CDs and DVDs, many of them of course multiple sets). What could I do? The flesh is weak.

I won't tell you how much the order came to in dollars, but in weight it came to nearly 17 pounds. Since it arrived earlier this week, andI've only begun to sift through the treasures. But I noticed a number of samplings from conductors of a sort I'm especially fond of.

It goes back to a point I was making just last week, contrasting performers who think they can assemble performances by tacking bunches of notes together following some rules they think they've found in some book or article with performers who understand that the only way you find you way inside a piece of music is by finding how and why it moves from the inside.

We've already heard a morsel from one of our "three 'K's," Rafael Kubelik's "Ballet of the Sylphs,' above, and we'll hear another Kubelik tantalizer in a moment, along with samples from our other conducting "K"s.

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Sunday, June 24, 2012

Sunday Classics: Among our team of operatic avengers, which does Saint-Saëns's Dalila resemble most?

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Shirley Verrett sings Dalila's Act II aria "Amour! Viens aider ma faiblesse" with Julius Rudel conducting in San Francisco, 1981. If the staging at the opening makes you wonder whether the stage director ever listened to the music (forget reading the libretto), we're on the same page.
Samson, seeking my presence again,
this evening is to come to this place.
Here is the hour of vengeance,
which must satisfy our gods.

Love! come aid my weakness!
Pour the poison in his breast!
Make it happen that, conquered by my artfulness,
Samson is in fetters tomorrow!
In vain would he wish to be able
to chase me out of his soul, to banish me.
Could he extinguish the flame
that memory feeds?
He is mine! my slave!
My brothers fear his wrath;
I, along among all, I defy him
and hold him at my knees!

Love! come aid my weakness!
Pour the poison in his breast!
Make it happen that, conquered by my artfulness,
Samson is in fetters tomorrow!
Against strength is useless,
and he, the strong among the strong,
he, who broke his people's chains,
will succumb to my efforts.

by Ken

Okay, here's where we are. Last week, in both the preview ("In which we hear a lady weighted by a heap of hurt") and the main post ("Meet Saint-Saëns's Dalila"), we heard the seductive side of Dalila -- and also the side, whatever you want to call it (I called it deep hurt) displayed in the great solo she sings when she's finally alone at the start of Act II. Then in Friday night's preview we heard her in "vengeance" mode, swearing along with the High Priest of Dagon, to bring Samson down -- and I also introduced several other operatic vengeance-seekers: Mozart's Queen of the Night, Beethoven's prison governor Don Pizarro, and the heroine of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde.

I certainly didn't mean to suggest any equivalence among our team of avengers. I wanted to lay the groundwork, because the text of Samson et Dalila doesn't give us much factual background to work with, for the best case I can make that Dalila's closest kin here is Isolde.

First we're going to hear from an actual monster, Don Pizarro in Fidelio, who has been forced into the decision to put an end to the suffering he has been inflicting on his old nemesis, Don Florestan, in a secret dungeon (where, you'll recall, we heard him languishing last month. Then, in the click-through, we'll hear from the Queen of the Night and Isolde, and finally we'll come back to Dalila.

(Note that I've juggled the lineup of recordings somewhat from the samples we heard in Friday night's preview. I wrote a bunch of long-winded explanations and exegeses, and then threw them out. We can talk about some of those issues some other time. Maybe. And note too that inclusion of a recording here doesn't necessarily constitute endorsement. There are some I'm not crazy about but have included for particular reasons.)

BEETHOVEN: Fidelio, Op. 72: Act I, Don Pizarro, "Ha! Welch ein Augenblick" ("Ha! What a moment!")
Ha! What a moment!
My vengeance I will cool;
your fate is calling you!
In its heart dwell,
oh live, good luck!
Already I was nearly in the dust,
by the loud scorn robbed,
there to be stretched.
Now it is up to me,
to commit the murder myself.
In his last hour,
the steel in his wound,
to cry in his ear:
Triumph! Victory is mine!
-- translation by Katharina Fink

Zoltán Kélémen (b), Don Pizarro; Chorus of the Deutsche Oper Berlin, Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. EMI, recorded 1970

Ekkehard Wlaschiha (b), Don Pizarro; Dresden State Opera Chorus, Staatskapelle Dresden, Bernard Haitink, cond. Philips, recorded November 1989

Walter Berry (bs-b), Don Pizarro; Vienna State Opera Chorus and Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein, cond. Live performance, June 9 or 14, 1970

Hans Hotter (b), Chorus and Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, Otto Klemperer, cond. Testament, recorded live, Feb. 24, 1961


TO HEAR FROM THE REST OF OUR
TEAM OF AVENGERS, CLICK HERE

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Sunday, February 05, 2012

Sunday Classics: Storms that set three great operatic scenes in motion (aka: Musical storms, part 3)

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Presumably you can tell from the umbrellas that there's a storm a-brewing -- well, actually, a-happening. Act III of Kátya Kabanová at St. Petersburg's Mikhailovsky Theater, December 2010.


Vienna Philharmonic, Charles Mackerras, cond. Decca, recorded December 1976

Prague National Theater Orchestra, Jaroslav Krombholc, cond. Supraphon, recorded 1959 [audio link]
[Note: Suddenly I'm having trouble with this clip. It seems to play OK onsite via the audio link. Or not -- sigh, don't ask me.]

"Storms are punishment, sent to us
to make us realize the power of the Almighty!"

-- the merchant Dikoj, in Act III of Janáček's Kátya Kabanová

by Ken

No, we're not going to get to Kátya Kabanová until next week. As I've had to keep explaining, most recently in Friday night's preview, the musical materials for our series on musical storms keep pushing back and insisting on being handled their way. So next week we're going to finish up -- I'm pretty sure! (I think) -- with two storms that are crucial parts of the musico-dramatic structure of their operas, and tonight we'll take our time focusing on three storms that open, and set the musical and dramatic wheels in motion for, three great operatic scenes.

I've had to be ruthless here, because there's so much to say about -- and of course hear in -- these scenes that we could easily spend weeks on each of them. So I'm going to try to rule out all digressions from the three short excerpts, with two exceptions:

(1) I've reproduced the fullest possible version of the stage directions I could find, at least in the two cases where there are extensive stage directions, not because I think stage directors and designers should be obligated to faithfully reproduce them (I don't, not at all), but because they seem to me to teem with information and indications about what mattered to the composers and librettists -- one and the same person in the case of Wagner, of course -- and how they wanted to stimulate and steer their audiences' perceptions.

I have to say that as long and intimately as I've consorted with these scenes, there was a fair amount of detail here that I've never taken in. And certainly much more detail than audiences could be expected to absorb in the few minutes it takes for these act-openers to whiz by. Which is a reminder of how fastidiously musico-dramatic craftsmen at the highest levels imagine their creations. I'd like to think that this is one opportunity to give these musical scene-setters the rightful attention they can't get from theatrical spectators.

(2) This is kind of a corollary to the above: For all three of our scene-setting storms we're going to hear the music that most closely preceded them. As a matter of fact, in the case of Puccini's La Bohème, I stumbled across a large fact I had somehow never known: that the composer and his librettists, Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica, apparently originally imagined an opera in five rather than four acts, with a middle act that Puccini never set.

The commentator from whom I learned this points out some factual references in what we know as Acts III and IV that refer back to facts from the never-set act, things that have never seemed to me to require explanation, but doesn't bother to note the most obvious reason the composer chose to jettison it: that the transformation from Act II to Act III as they were composed is one of the great dramatic coups in the theatrical literature. I think we'll get some sense of that transformation by butting the end of Act II up against the start of Act III.

(Okay, I've cheated. There will be another digression at the end, left over from work I had already done by the time I called a halt.)


LET'S GET ON WITH OUR SCENE-SETTING STORMS -- CLICK HERE

SUNDAY CLASSICS' MUSICAL STORMS

Preview: Tonight's musical selections should give you a good idea of Sunday's subject (January 13)
The thunderstorm movement from Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony and Otello's "Esultate" from Verdi's Otello
Stormy weather, part 1 (January 15)
Verdi's Otello, Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, and Berlioz's Les Troyens, plus Lena Horne singing "Stormy Weather"
Preview: Given the resources at his disposal, Vivaldi's musical storms may be the most remarkable of all (January 27)
The three storm movements from Vivaldi's Four Seasons
With the full symphony orchestra you can create a heckuva storm (aka: Musical storms, part 2) (January 29)
Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony (again), Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique, Grofé's Grand Canyon Suite, Johann Strauss II's Amid Thunder and Lightning polka, Richard Strauss's Alpine Symphony, Grieg's Peer Gynt incidental music, Britten's Peter Grimes, and Rossini's Barber of Seville
Preview: En route to more of our musical storms, we encounter perhaps the most eerily wonderful music I know (February 3)
The Preludes to Acts I and II of Wagner's Siegfried
Storms that set three great operatic scenes in motion (aka: Musical storms, part 3) (February 5)
The openings of Wagner's Die Walküre Act I and Siegfried Act III and of Act III of Puccini's La Bohème
Preview: En route to our final operatic storms, we hear two famous tenor tunes sung by a very famous tenor (February 24)
"La donna è mobile," the Quartet, and the Storm Scene from Act III of Rigoletto
Musical storms, part 4: We come to our raging storms from Janáček's Kátya Kabanová and Verdi's Rigoletto (February 26)
The storms from Act III of both operas, with a close-up look at how Verdi created the Rigoletto one -- plus the whole of Act III
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Sunday, October 09, 2011

Sunday Classics: What if Wagner had called it "Wolfram von Eschenbach and the Song Contest at the Wartburg"?

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The Wartburg, overlooking Eisenach in Thuringia, housed the
ruling landgraves of Thuringia until the mid-15th century.


by Ken

As I indicated in Friday night's "sneak peek" preview, we're easing into Wagner's Tannhäuser, the second of his ten mature operas, but we're going to be looking at it from what I think is an unusual perspective, that of the hero's fellow minnesinger and best friend, Wolfram von Eschenbach.

Bearing in mind that the opera's proper title is Tannhäuser und der Sangkrieg auf dem Wartburg -- Tannhäuser and the Song Contest at the Wartburg ("a castle situated on a 1230-foot precipice to the southwest of, and overlooking the town of Eisenach, in the state of Thuringia, Germany"), we're going to begin this eventual three-part series with a more or less direct assault on the Song Contest, in Act II. The minnesingers (properly speaking, Minnesänger) of 12th-to-14th-century Germany took their name from their reason for existence: celebration of Minne, love. Besides Tannhäuser and Wolfram, we encounter four other minnesingers, whom we'll actually be hearing in the next part of this series -- they all have solo parts, but they also function as an indivduated chorus, clearly a dry run for Wagner's eventual Mastersingers of Nuremberg.

In Wagner's evocation of Thuringian society the singers are, clearly, highly esteemed; the song contests being great events. Clearly the title character was the one who interested Wagner most was obviously Tannhäuser, a free spirit who loves being the center of his community's attention but chafes under its rules. He has to see everything for himself, try everything for himself, make his own determinations. It's not hard to see why Wagner thought the guy was aces -- clearly reminded him of someone he thought he knew well. The relationship between Tannhäuser and Wolfram

I'm trying something audacious: plunging right into Wolfram's contest song. As we'll see in the click-through, when we take a fuller look at the scene, the order of contestants is determined randomly, but it's appropriate and satisfying that it's Wolfram who first rises to the Landgraf's challenge to explain "the true essence of love."

Friday night we heard the Belgian bass-baritone José van Dam singing Wolfram's gorgeous evening-star song from Act III, our eventual destination in the final part of this series. From that same Wagner CD we hear Wolfram's contest song.
ABOUT THE "AUDIO LINKS" (NEW! NEW! NEW!)

If you're not having any trouble getting the post's audio clips to play, you can ignore these links. But if you do have trouble with a clip, there's a chance that the link to the onsite posting will enable you to hear, assuming I've gotten the clip right. (One one level I think of the clips as a new opportunity to screw stuff up.)

WAGNER: Tannhäuser: Act II, Wolfram, "Blick' ich umher in diesem edlen Kreise" ("When I look around this noble circle")
WOLFRAM: When I look around this noble circle,
what a sublime spectacle makes my heart glow!
So many heroes, valiant, upright and judicious,
a forest of proud oaks, magnificent, fresh and green.
And ladies I behold, charming and virtuous,
a richly-perfumed garland of lovely blooms.
My glance becomes enraptured at the sight,
my song mute in face of such radiant loveliness.
I lift my eyes up yonder to one star
which stands fast in the firmament and dazzles me:
my spirit draws comfort from that distance,
my soul devoutly sinks in prayer.
And behold! Before me a miraculous spring appears,
which my spirit glimpses, filled with wonder!
From it, it draws bliss, rich in grace,
through which, ineffably, it revives my heart.
And never would I sully this fount,
nor taint the spring in wanton mood:
I would practise myself in devotion, sacrificing,
gladly shed my heart's last drop of blood.
You noble ones may gather from these words
how I do apprehend love's purest essence to be!
[He sits down.]
José van Dam, bass-baritone; Orchestre National de Lille, Jean-Claude Casadesus, cond. Forlane, recorded 1990 [audio link]

Beyond the sheer gorgeousness of this free-form music, I'm overwhelmed by the nobility, sensitivity, imagination. What the Wagner "experts" rarely comment on is the deep artistic honesty of his observation of his characters, which made it possible for him to create in Wolfram, a character whom he clearly regarded as second banana to Tannhäuser, someone of such richness and dimension, thanks in good part to the staggering beauty of nearly all of his music. (Sometimes I have to wonder whether the Wagner "experts" actually ever listen to the music.)

To strike a more festive note before clicking through, let's retreat to a more obvious starting point: the gathering of the guests for the Song Contest, picking up at the first sound of the trumpets announcing to the Landgraf the arrival of "the nobles of my lands" (we have full English texts in the click-through; for now, just think "joy" and "joyful," with the occasional "hail" thrown in), in a rousing, even breathless live performance from the 1962 Bayreuth Festival.

Tannhäuser: Act II, Landgraf, "Schon nahen sich die Edlen meiner Lande" ("Already the nobles of my land are nearing") . . . Entry of the Guests, "Freudig begrüssen wir die edle Halle" ("Joyfully we greet the noble hall")

Josef Greindl (bs), Landgraf Hermann; Bayreuth Festival (1962) Chorus and Orchestra, Wolfgang Sawallisch, cond. Philips, recorded live, 1962 [audio link]


TO CONTINUE WITH OUR SAMPLING OF "THE SONG
CONTEST AT THE WARTBURG," CLICK HERE


THE TANNHÄUSER SERIES

Part 1: What if Wagner had called it Wolfram von Eschenbach and the Song Contest at the Wartburg?
Act II and the Song Contest
"Sneak" preview and main post

Part 2: Continuing our look at Tannhäuser from the vantage point of Wolfram von Eschenbach --
Circling back to Act I
Preview and main post

Part 3: Finally we reach Act III --
Wolfram's vigil over Elisabeth
Preview and main post
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Friday, March 04, 2011

Sunday Classics special: Remembering Margaret Price, Part 1

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by Ken

Earlier this week I took sad note of the passing, at age 69, of the fine Welsh-born soprano Margaret Price. It occurred to me as I was thinking about her voice and caree that there aren't that many sopranos we've heard sing Handel's Messiah and Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, and quickly another occurred to me. (I'm sure there are many others. I stopped thinking about it.) Admiittedly in the case of Isolde it never happened in the opera house -- but that too is true for both singers!

I thought we'd just go ahead and listen to them both, though for fun we won't identify Soprano B until the click-through.

HANDEL: Messiah: Part III, Aria, "I know that my Redeemer liveth"
I know that my Redeemer liveth,
and that he shall stand at the latter day
upon the earth. And tho' worms destroy
this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.
Job 19:25-26
I know that my Redeemer liveth.
For now is Christ risen from the dead,
the first fruits of them that sleep.
I Corinthians 15:20
Margaret Price, soprano; English Chamber Orchestra, Johannes Somary, cond. Vanguard, recorded July 1970
Who is "Soprano B"? She's identified in the click-through.

WHO IS SOPRANO B? TO HEAR BOTH SINGERS SING THE
LIEBESTOD, PLUS MORE MARGARET PRICE, CLICK HERE.

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Friday, January 14, 2011

Sunday Classics flashback/preview, part 1: We haven't quite finished with this lovely soprano

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Alberich and the Rhinemaidens in the opening scene of Wagner's Das Rheingold
SCENE: At the bottom of the Rhine
[English translation by Andrew Porter]

Greenish half-light, turning brighter towards the top, darker below. The scene is filled with whirling waters that flow ceaselessly from right to left. Towards the bottom the tide is dispelled into an increasingly fine damp mist, so that a space as high as a man from the ground seems to be completely free of the water which flows, as if in cloud formation, over the dusky bed. Sheer rockfaces rise everywhere from the depths and mark the confines of the stage. The whole river bed is broken up into a mass of jagged rocks and is nowhere completely flat as a result; deep gorges are to be imagined in the dense darkness all around.

In the centre of the stage, round one rock, whose slender apex stretches up into the brighter area of densely swirling water, one of the Rhinemaidens is circling with graceful swimming strokes.


WOGLINDE: Weia! Waga!
Wandering waters,
lulling our cradle!
Wagala weia!
Wallala, weiala weia!
WELLGUNDE [singing from higher up]: Woglinde, watching alone?
WOGLINDE: Till Wellgunde joins me down here.
WELLGUNDE [dives down from the waters onto the rock] Let's see how you watch!
WOGLINDE: Safe from your grasp!
[They tease and try to catch one another.]
FLOSSHILDE: Heiala weia!
Careful my sisters!
WELLGUNDE: Flosshilde, swim!
Woglinde flies!
Hurry and help me
to catch her!
FLOSSHILDE: The sleeping gold
calls for your care!
Back to your task of guarding its bed
or else you'll pay
for your games!
[With cheerful cries the other two swim apart: Flosshilde tries to catch first one, then the other; they evade her and finally combine in joint pursuit of Flosshilde; in this way they dart like fishes from rock to rock, joking and laughing.]

by Ken

My original intention was to start the above audio clip at the track 2, the first bit of singing, to introduce, or reintroduce, a singer we've heard recently but haven't given a fair reckoning. Gradually, though, I realized that you can't just skip over the actual opening of Das Rheingold (or The Rhinegold, as it's presented to us here). So if you want to just hear the soprano I don't feel we've done proper justice, you can just click ahead to the second track -- and skip over one of the most prodigious feats of musical imagination to have sprung from the mind of man. Your choice.

One of these days we're going to come back to this scene, and hear the likes of Joan Sutherland and Erna Berger as the "lead" Rhinemaiden, Woglinde -- oh yes, it's the Woglinde of this performance we're interested in. My point here is that it is, yes, in a sense a "small" role, but the Rhinemaidens actually do a fair amount of singing, and if it isn't done well, that can go a long way toward killing a performance of the Ring cycle before it's had a chance to get started.

With regard to our "mystery" Woglinde, in the unlikely event that you haven't already figured out who she is, here's a selection that's a bit closer to home, at least as we've known her so far. The thing is, it's so close to home that for the benefit of those of you who are playing along, I can't identify it till the click-through.
My kindly friends, I thank you for this greeting
And as you wish me every earthly joy,
I trust your wishes may have quick fulfillment!

Oh, happy young heart!
Comes thy young lord a-wooing
With joy in his eyes,
And pride in his breast --
Make much of thy prize,
For he is the best
That ever came a-suing.
Yet -- yet we must part,
Young heart!
Yet -- yet we must part!

Oh, merry young heart,
Bright are the days of thy wooing!
But happier far
The days untried --
No sorrow can mar,
When love has tied
The knot there's no undoing.
Then, never to part,
Young heart!
Then, never to part!


TO LEARN THE IDENTITY OF OUR MYSTERY SOPRANO,
AND HEAR HER SING A LITTLE MORE, CLICK HERE.

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Sunday, April 25, 2010

Sunday Classics: The Shostakovich 6th rises from brooding to joyous uplift (with notes on Shostakovich and Schoenberg)

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Leonard Bernstein tops off his one-of-a-kind performance of the Shostakovich 6th Symphony with the scampering final Presto, with the Vienna Philharmonic in October 1986. (We're going to hear the complete audio recording made at this same series of performances.)

by Ken

We make plans. Sometimes plans blow up.

From our Friday night and Saturday night Guess the Composer(s) quizzes (the answers to which are now posted as updates to the original posts), we're pointed toward the Schoenberg of the monumental and sublime cantata-oratorio Gurre-Lieder and the Shostakovich of the Sixth Symphony.

As the music of our quizzes made clear, both Shostakovich and even (perhaps surprisingly) Schoenberg had a lighter side. Still, that's not, in either case, what made the body of their music tick, although with Shostakovich there was clearly a quality of irony -- I keep searching for the right descriptive term, stronger than satirical or even sardonic; perhaps caustic? -- which remained part of his way of looking at the world well into the darkest period of his later works.
MUSICAL INTERLUDE: SHOSTAKOVICH ON "HUMOR"

The second movement of Shostakovich's great 13th Symphony (1962), built around settings of poems by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, the one that follows the pulverizing opening "Babi Yar" movement (the movement in particular that caused convulsions in the Kremlin), is "Humor":

ii. "Humor" (Allegretto)
Poem by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
English translation by Valeria Vlazinskaya


SOLO
Tsars, kings, emperors,
rulers of the world,
commanded parades,
but humor, but humor -- they could not.
To the palaces of the eminent,
who, well groomed, all day reclined,
came the vagabond Aesop.
and before him all appeared impoverished.
CHORUS
Came the vagabond Aesop,
and before him all appeared impoverished.
SOLO
In homes where a hypocrite left traces
of his puny feet,
all this banality Hadji Nasr-ed-Din
swept aside with his jokes as one would clear a chessboard.
They wanted to buy humor.
CHORUS
Only he cannot be bought!
SOLO
They wanted to kill humor.
CHORUS
But humor thumbed his nose.
SOLO
To battle him is a tough business.
They executed him endlessly.
CHORUS
Humor's severed head
was stuck on a warrior's pike.
SOLO
Just when the buffoons' pipes
would start their tale,
he would brightly cry: "I'm here!"
CHORUS
"I'm here!"
SOLO AND CHORUS
And he would break into a dashing dance.
SOLO
In a threadbare scanty coat,
crestfallen and as if repenting,
caught as a political prisoner,
he would go to his execution.
His appearance displayed disobedience,
ready for his life hereafter,
when suddenly he would slip out of his coat,
waving his hand.
SOLO AND CHORUS
And bye-bye!
SOLO
They hid humor in cells,
but like hell they succeeded.
SOLO AND CHORUS
Iron bars and stone walls
he would pass right through.
SOLO AND CHORUS
Clearing his throat from the cold,
like an ordinary soldier
he marched as a simple ditty
with a rifle for the Winter Palace.
SOLO
He is used to stern glances,
but it does not hurt him.
And humor looks upon himself
at times with humor.
He is everlasting.
CHORUS
Everlasting.
SOLO
He is smart.
CHORUS
Smart.
SOLO
And nimble.
CHORUS
And nimble.
SOLO
He will walk through everything and everybody.
SOLO AND CHORUS
And so, glory to humor!
He is a courageous fellow.


Peter Mikulaš, bass; Czecho-Slovak Symphony Orchestra (Bratislava), Ladislav Slovák, cond. Naxos, recorded Nov. 22-28, 1990

Nikita Storojev, bass; City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Okko Kamu, cond. Chandos, recorded Jan. 9-10, 1987

One other thing Schoenberg (1874-1951) and Shostakovich (1906-1975) had in common, and with every composer of the 20th century who had his wits about him, was the need to cope with the exhaustion of available musical language, which we've talked about a number of times. Some readers react with disbelief or scorn, as if it's all in my imagination, but the composers who've grappled with the problem knew better.

What I can't prove to you, though I've come to believe that it's almost inescapably true, and so have most of the composers who've dealt with this, is that only a certain amount of music can be written within a given framework of musical language. It's a fact, after all, that throughout the history of Western classical music, the musical language has evolved. I don't think it's a matter of randomness or mere fashion. It is, I think, why at least in Western music, the language has been forced to evolve continuously.

It's obviously not that every single piece of music that could be written in that harmonic idiom has been written, but that at a certain point anything more tends to sound tired and imitative. What I continue to find fascinating is that this doesn't in any way invalidate or compromise the music that was already written, which can continue to sound as fresh as it ever was. (Note that this assumes that it did once sound genuinely fresh.)

We've already heard the two biggest pushes toward expanding that available musical language. The first was sounded in a single dramatic stroke by Wagner with that first half-diminshed-seventh chord in the opening phrase of the Prelude to his Tristan und Isolde. To put it mildly, there was a deal of resistance at the time, but the push into chromatic harmony, allowing fuller exploration of the intervals within the musical octave which had been generally looked down on in traditional Western tonal harmony, provided some linguistic elbow room.
MUSICAL INTERLUDE: RETURN TO TRISTAN

WAGNER: Tristan und Isolde: Prelude

Staatskapelle Dresden, Carlos Kleiber, cond. DG, recorded 1980-82

And then, although we didn't discuss it in these terms, along came Debussy with a more limited but still expansive idea: throwing into the mix chords built on intervals that go beyond the octave: 9ths, 11ths, and 13ths, creating the sound we associate with musical Impressionism. Again, it wasn't the grand breakthrough it might once have seemed, but for a while it gave composers some extra harmonic elbow room.
MUSICAL INTERLUDE: RAVEL ORCHESTRATES DEBUSSY

DEBUSSY: Sarabande (orch. Ravel)

San Francisco Symphony Orchestra, Pierre Monteux, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded Apr. 3, 1946

That somehow doesn't seem like much of a bonus, and hardly worth interrupting the main discussion. Don't tell anyone, and we'll slip in something more substantial. We never did get to the three Images for Orchestra, of which, as I mentioned, the middle Image, Ibéria, is one of Debussy's most popular orchestral works in its own right, and is itself in three movements.

DEBUSSY: Ibéria (No. 2 of Images for Orchestra):
i. Par les rues et par les chemins (By the streets and by the byways)
ii. Les Parfums de la nuit (The Perfumes of the Night)
iii. Le Matin d'un jour de fête (Morning of a Festival Day)


Orchestra of the Théâtre National de l'Opéra de Paris, Manuel Rosenthal, cond. Adès, recorded 1957-59

Perhaps this is what Schoenberg saw: that Wagner and Debussy had found enough linguistic wiggle room to keep them going, but by the time they were done, they left little room for anyone else to follow. From a strictly intellectual standpoint, the idea of replacing tonality, where all harmonic relationships are built around a "root" tone, with a system where all 12 tones of the scale are considered equal and all combinations are considered equally valid, has some theoretical plausibility.

The problem comes when you try to listen to music that's composed this way. Very occasionally, a composer (in my experience, his name is Alban Berg) has managed, through sheer force of musical imagination, to produce 12-tone, or "serial," music that really plugs into the human nervous system in much the way that Western classical music had been doing for several centuries.

Of course even after serialism was all but universally abandoned, composers occasionally managed, through some of that "force of musical imagination," to wring a bit more music of substance out of the existing tonal language, as was the case above all for the trio I've dubbed the last three great composers: Stravinsky, Britten, and Shostakovich. (Stravinsky famously had a go with every mode he could think of to give himself some still-exploitable musical language, including even a fling with the serialism he had once ridiculed. He didn't get much more mileage out of it than anyone else.)

I think it's important to understand that Schoenberg himself appreciated the extent of the sacrifice in giving up traditional tonality, at which he himself was a master. We have only to look at that great monument to it, Gurre-Lieder (Songs of Gurre). Which is where my plan for today's post broke down. I thought we could "do" a Shostakovich symphony, notably a little one like the Sixth, as well as Gurre-Lieder in one post. Actually, I had visions of doing not just the Shostakovich Sixth, but the next and last "little" symphony he wrote, the Ninth.

That's craziness, and it's not going to happen. Most of our consideration of Gurre-Lieder is going to have to wait till next week. It's not only an enormous work, but an enormously enveloping one, as full a flowering as German musical Romanticism was capable of. In it Schoenberg created a musico-dramatic world of his own, or rather several worlds, for the work's three very different parts.

For now, let's just add a tease to last night's excerpt: the orchestral interlude that bridges the main body of Part I, which consists of alternating set pieces for the Danish king Waldemar and his lover Tove, and the "Song of the Wood Dove," which culminates the hourlong Part I. Here is the third of Tove's four solos. Anyone who wants to call this the most beautiful music ever written will get no argument from me, and we've got two ravishingly beautiful performances here.

SCHOENBERG: Gurre-Lieder: Part I,
"Nun sag' ich dir zum ersten Mal" (Tove)
Now I say to you for the first time,
"King Volmer, I love you!"
Now I kiss you for the first time
and cast my arms around you.
And if you say, I'd already said it
and even given you my kiss,
then I'll say, "The king is a fool
who thinks of fleeting trash."
And if you say, "I am indeed such a fool,"
then I'll say, "The king is right."
However, if you say, "No, I'm not that,"
then I'll say, "The king is bad."
For I kissed all my roses to death,
the while I thought I thought of you.

Gundula Janowitz (s), Tove; Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Josef Krips, cond. Live performance, 1969

Jessye Norman (s), Tove; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. Philips, recorded live, April 1979

MEANWHILE, BACK AT SHOSTAKOVICH

Last night we began our look at the strange and wonderful Shostakovich Sixth Symphony backwards, starting with the third and final movement. It seemed to me as good a way in as any, though it won't get us out of this weirdly structured piece. The symphony begins with a soulfully intense Largo that lasts typically 17-20 minutes (although we're going to hear a performance that stretches this to 22½!), followed by two quickish movements that combined only sometimes crack 14.

It seems to me clear that in this great Largo we're back in the world of the Bruckner-Mahler adagio.

SHOSTAKOVICH: Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 54:
i. Largo


Berlin Symphony Orchestra, Kurt Sanderling, cond. Berlin Classics, recorded April 1979

I think there's some worthwhile description in this liner note on the Shostakovich Sixth. Unfortunately it reads like the translation it is, not bad of its kind, but still unmistakably a translation, I just didn't have the time or heart to redo it.
In the Shadow of Lenin or of . . . Mahler?

The Sixth Symphony, first performed by the Leningrad Philharmonic under Yevgeny Mravinsky on 5 November 1939, was received with little enthusiasm. The period was harldy conducive to smiles, and this curious score, with its unorthodox formal design, a huge Largo followed by two lively, scherzando movements, disconcerted the critics who had come expecting a new ode to Lenin. This "headless symphony" had to wait almost half a century to be treated on an equal level with its predecessor, the highly spectacular Fifth Symphony in D minor with its Tchaikovskian forcefulness.

The shades of Sibelius and of Mahler hover over this new symphony in B minor. From the former Shostakovich took over the partiality for long, particularly expressive, disincarnate solos for the woodwinds, the use of unstable, evolving harmonies, and a rhythmic pace that endows the symphonic course with a tragic, crepuscular or spectral character.

The Largo, longer than the last two movements together, may be regarded as a symphonic poem, an extensive meditation in the shape of a diptych in which the English horn is given most of the melodic line. This sinuous, inextinguishable melody constantly renews itself in its slow harmonic mutations and its meandering from one soloist to another. The commentary makes use of unusual sonorities created by the sounding of instruments in extreme registers, e.g. the principal melody given to the piccolo accompanied by the double bassoon and a single deep melodic line in the strings. In the same way, a single blow on the gong introduces a radical change of color in the lower strings, while the flutes play skillful arabesques in the top register. The one and only appearance of the celesta launches another change of color in the string parts, which grow somewhat brighter and take up the melodic continuum introduced by the woodwinds.

In contrast, the Allegro is brilliant and exuberant, cast as a pastiche of "classical" humor à la Prokofiev. The reappearance of the original theme in the bass clarinet in opposition to the solo flute playing the inversion of the same theme is full of both humor and virtuosic imaginativeness.

The Presto finale is in the form of a speciously facetious Rondo in B major. The middle episode could be a parody of Rossini's Sonatas for strings, first in the winds (bassoon, flute, piccolo), and then repeated by the solo violin. But the futility of this game engenders a certain uneasiness by its stereotyped character. In the concluding coda there is a sophisticated orchestra of increasingly flimsy melodic material whose jauntiness and vulgarity are comparable to the "recommended" examples provided in this period by Tikhon Khrennikov's orchestrations of "Russian" songs.

--Pierre-E. BARBIER, translated by Derek Yeld

Much of this is useful and unexceptionable, and with it under our belts, this may be a good time to relisten to the first movement and then continue on with the second.

i. Largo

London Philharmonic Orchestra, Sir Adrian Boult, cond. Everest, recorded November 1958

ii. Allegro

Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Vladimir Ashkenazy, cond. Decca, recorded November 1988

Czecho-Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra (Bratislava), Ladislav Slovák, cond. Naxos, recorded Dec. 3-12, 1988

Still, I wonder whether we all hear the Shostakovich Sixth the same way M. Barbier does. Let's refresh our memory of the Presto finale, Friday night's bonus work. In particular, the rousing finale, roughly the last three minutes.

iii. Presto

Concertgebouw Orchestra, Bernard Haitink, cond. Decca, recorded December 1983

Our friend M. Barbier thinks the "stereotyped character" of the musical materials here are indicative of something approaching musical parody. And this is a line of thinking I would emphatically endorse with regard to the fake-triumphant climax of the Fifth Symphony, or the brilliantly insipid theme-and-variaitons of the first movement of the Seventh. But I don't get that feeling at all here. What I get is unadulterated joy and celebration, joy and celebration we can only reach by way of the long journey through the symphony's first two and a half movements. Let's listen again to just the finale, before we put the whole piece back together.

iii. Presto

WDR (West German Radio) Symphony Orchestra, Rudolf Barshai, cond. Brilliant Classics, recorded Oct. 17-20, 1995


THE COMPLETE SHOSTAKOVICH SIXTH SYMPHONY

The first thing we have to do is to correct the omission, in all the Shostakovich Sixth excerpts we've heard so far, of any Russian recordings. There really is, or at least historically has been, a difference in weight and tone of native-rendered Shostakovich. It just happens that I don't appear to have any Russian performances of the Sixth on CD, except for the first of our two complete performances, this 1955 mono one by the same conductor and orchestra who, as noted above, gave the symphony its premiere, in 1939.

And then we hear Leonard Bernstein's late recording, coupled with his Vienna remake of the little Ninth Symphony. (A video coupling made at these same performances is available on DVD.) Lenny is the man you would look to to hear the symphony's links to Mahler (he's the conductor of that 22½-minute Largo I promised), and also to savor its sardonic elements.

SHOSTAKOVICH: Symphony No. 6 in B minor, Op. 54:
i. Largo
ii. Allegro
iii. Presto



Leningrad Philharmonic Orchestra, Yevgeny Mravinsky, cond. Praga, recorded live in Prague, May 21, 1955

Vienna Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein, cond. DG, recorded live, October 1986


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Sunday, March 21, 2010

Sunday Classics: Wagner, master of musical motion, Part 2 (yes, last night's preview was Part 1)

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The revolutionary opening phrase of the Prelude to Tristan und Isolde, highlighting the unresolving half-diminished seventh chord that became known as the "Tristan chord"

by Ken

And here is the Tristan Prelude itself, in a performance I liked a lot when I first heard it, and I'm relieved to say I still like very much. I'll tell you in a moment who the conductor and orchestra are -- I think you'll be surprised.

WAGNER: Tristan und Isolde: Prelude to Act I



Our subject this week, you'll recall, is "musical motion," how performers find -- or don't -- what makes a piece of music move forward from the inside, how they re-create it with real energy and purpose instead of just grinding out one damned note after another. In Friday night's preview we tested the idea in music that lives or dies via believable and engaging musical momentum, by Dukas, Rossini, and Johann Strauss. Then last night we began exploring the subject of inner musical momentum in terms of one of the foremost masters of it, Richard Wagner. And as I indicated last night, our primary work unit is the Prelude to Tristan und Isolde.

We've got so much ground to cover today that I'm afraid we're going to have to throw overboard what was to have been our first order of business: a too-fast video performance of Rossini's Overture to La Gazza ladra by Claudio Abbado that makes a cheap effect while stripping away most of the piece's wit and charm -- but that's basically the same lesson that was illustratred last night by Valery Gergiev's too-fast performance of the Prelude to Act III of Wagner's Lohengrin.


TRISTAN: PRELUDE INTO THE OPENING SCENE

You've already been introduced up top to the "Tristan chord." It's hard to understate how shocking this was to the musical world when it was first heard publicly (in 1865 -- the opera was basically written in 1856-59, as Wagner turned to "more practical" projects while he was stuck in composing The Ring, at the start of Act IiI of Siegfried). It's a chord that incorporates the interval of the tritone, which was considered a horror in classical harmony, and more importantly, it's a chord that doesn't naturally resolve in any direction. We dealt very simply with the concept of harmonic "resolution" back when we were listening to the Largo of Dvořák's New World Symphony -- it's the natural direction in which the ear expects a particular harmony to move. It's the basis of all "tonal" music.

Only the Tristan chord has no natural outlet, and that was Wagner's point. The first and most obvious audacity of Tristan is that it doesn't resolve harmonically, over its 3½-to-4-hour length, until the very end of the Liebestod, the Love-Death sung by Isolde over the body of the expired Tristan. The opera became a test of Wagner's ability to maintain an intense level of musical and dramatic activity while never allowing it to be resolved. Most immediately, this a graphic musical representation of desire, of yearning, and as the Act II love scene between Tristan and Isolde makes clear, while this desire and yearning include the spiritual, they are also emphatically and unambiguously carnal.

I think we got a good sampling of this in the above performance of the Tristan Prelude, which by the way is from a 1972 Rome Radio broadcast concert performance of the complete opera with the RAI Rome Orchestra conducted by, of all people, Zubin Mehta! The performance, from February 1, 1972, features Birgit Nilsson and Helge Brilioth in the title roles and a solid supporting cast. It has been issued by Myto in excellent stereo sound.

Now, as I mention occasionally, under normal circumstances I hate to waste your time or mine with bad performances. But in this case, if I'm going to have any shot at describing what I mean by musical motion that's generated from inside the music, we're rather obviously going to have to resort to performances that I think fail to do so. Let me say that, especially if you're new to this music, the differences may not be immediately apparent, but I think as you listen you'll gradually come to hear that not only are they there, but they're really not all that subtle.

One further note: From here on in, none of our performances of the Tristan Act I Prelude are going to end in the middle of nowhere the way the Mehta one above does. Again, this is a prelude rather than overture, and as such it wasn't mean to have an "end," but flows directly into the opening scene, which in this case is aboard the ship on which the brave knight Tristan is escorting the young Irish lass Isolde, much against her will, from Ireland to Cornwall to marry his uncle, King Marke. The first thing we hear after the end of the Prelude is the voice of a young sailor who is singing, as operatic sailors, and probably even some real-life sailors, are wont to do. Wagner has written the Sailor a most extraordinary little song, but we shouldn't forget -- as a lot of conductors seem to -- that it's a work song, just as surely as, say, "I've Been Working on the Railroad," and not a lullaby or a recitation or a recital offering.

Unfortunately for the Sailor, or I suppose really for Isolde, the song coincidentally concerns an "Irish maiden" (not all that coincidental when you consider that the ship has just sailed from Ireland) in a situation that sounds to her like a cruel mockery of her own captivity, and she explodes with rage, requiring comforting and orientation from her trusted companion Brangäne. I mention this because in most of our recordings you'll have the opportunity to hear this, since in order to include the sailor's song I had to include a CD track that goes farther into Act I.

Don't forget that you have options her. In your listening you can take in just the first track, which ends at the end of the Prelude, or you can continue on and stop after the sailor's song, or you can run the table and make the acquaintance of the ladies. As long as we were doing it, it seemed a shame not to offer you these options.
I'm only going to give you the (translated) text for the Sailor's song. For the continuation of the scene, you can find a German-English libretto at http://www.rwagner.net/libretti/tristan/e-tristan-a1s1.html. (If you want to open it in a separate window, you can simply paste the URL in.)

Sailor's Song

Westward strays the eye,
eastward flies the ship.
Fresh blows the wind
homeward.
My Irish maiden,
where do you linger?
Is it the breath of your sighs
that fills our sails?
Blow, blow, o wind!
Woe, ah woe, my child!
Irish maiden,
you wild, winsome maiden!

WAGNER: Tristan und Isolde: Prelude and opening of Act I


Rolando Villazón (t), Young Sailor; Nina Stemme (s), Isolde; Mihoko Fujimara (ms), Brangäne; Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, Antonio Pappano, cond. EMI, recorded Sept. 2004 - Jan. 2005


John Dickie (t), Young Sailor; Deborah Voigt (s), Isolde; Petra Lang (ms), Brangäne; Vienna State Opera Orchestra, Christian Thielemann, cond. DG, recorded live, May 2003

We start with two performances I just don't buy.

In the Pappano-conducted EMI recording (which by the way features Plácido Domingo as Tristan, a peformance that in more astutely supportive hands might have added up to something), we're in trouble almost from the get-go. Pappano's kind of OK as long as the music is rising in pitch and volume, but maybe because he doesn't seem to have any idea how to secure real intensity from his players, the line crumbles when it goes lower in pitch and volume, and so already the famous first phrase limps to an end, and by the time of the full-orchestra rest, the Prelude has ground to a halt. And this pattern keeps repeating, pretty much wrecking any chance of building to any kind of musical or emotional point. Oh, the piece is still recognizable, and to people who don't expect to be truly engaged by the music, this is apparently enough, and never mind that the guts and purpose have been drained out.

Telling note: Rolando Villazóon's pretty little tenor might be a fine voice for the Sailor, but he seems to be singing it as a conservatory graduation recital piece. Things seem to pick up at Isolde's explosive entrance, but it's an illusion; fast and loud Pappano can do, and the music will make some effect, but the rest is a blur.

The Thielemann-DG recording is a trickier case, as is so often the case for me with Thielemann. It's hard to point to anything that's actively wrong. The elements seem to be in place, and you can listen for a while kidding yourself that he deserves praise for his admirable restraint, for underplaying rather than indulging in cheap expressive theatrics, until eventually you realize that there really isn't any expression -- he's not underplaying the music so much as simply not playing it. It doesn't doesn't go anywhere, doesn't really happen. At the end of the Prelude, we're exactly where we were when we started, with the sensation that nothing has really happened except that it's ten later.

For another while you can point fingers elsewhere, like -- in the case of this 2003 live Tristan from the Vienna State Opera -- the mediocre-or-worse cast. (Deborah Voigt sounds very ragged as Isolde, and the very idea of Thomas Moser as Tristan seems silly. Of course, as happens any time you put something like this in the form of a challenge, the international standard seems to have dropped even lower. The performance I heard Ben Heppner give at the Met some years ago was in fact worse -- Moser, despite his vocal nonpresence, doesn't stop the music from happening -- and then there's John Treleaven, and somebody named Wolfgang Millgram . . . but enough.) But that doesn't account for the overriding reality that the music just doesn't move except in grinding-it-out, one-damned-note-after-another fashion.

When I bought the Thielemann recording, even after listening to it all the way through several times I still couldn't remember much of anything about it. Again, not much seems to be actively wrong, apart from the cast (admittedly a sizable "apart from"), but nothing registers, nothing sticks. Eventually I had to acknowledge fact that the different colors of the CDsrs -- red for Act I, blue for Act II, green for Act III -- represent a larger emotional statement than anything I've been able to glean by listening to the performance.


Rudolf Schock (t), Young Sailor; Kirsten Flagstad (s), Isolde; Blanche Thebom (ms), Brangäne; Philharmonia Orchestra, Wilhelm Furtwängler, cond. EMI, recorded 1952


Anton Dermota (t), Young Sailor; Birgit Nilsson (s), Isolde; Hilde Rössl-Majdan (ms), Brangäne; Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Herbert von Karajan, cond. Live performance, Apr. 30, 1959

Now we come to two performances, conducted by credentialed Wagnerians, that are on a distinctly higher level but that I still don't buy.

The first will be controversial, since I appear to be the only person on the planet who gets hardly any message from the famous 1952 Furtwängler-EMI Tristan. It's a recording that certainly should have been made. Furtwängler's various Ring recordings bear ample witness to his genius as a Wagner conductor, and under fascinatingly different circumstances: the complete 1950 La Scala cycle under actual live theater conditions, the 1953 Rome Radio cycle under the more reflective, controlled circumstances of one-act-at-a-time in-studio performance. Then finally in 1954 he got to record Die Walküre under studio conditions with a great orchestra, the Vienna Philharmonic. (This was meant to be the start of a complete commercial Ring cycle, but Furtwängler went and died.) What's more, even as late as 1952 Kirsten Flagstad retained nearly all the essential components of a great Isolde. Both she and the Tristan, Ludwig Suthaus had had a productive history with Furtwänger. And yet nobody really delivers.

Above all, the performance for me lacks the very kind of musical momentum and continuity that's the hallmark of an engaged Furwängler performance. There exists a Furtwängler-conducted 1947 Berlin broadcast performance containing most of Acts II and III which sounds hardly anything like this performance (and in which, by the way, Suthaus -- admittedly in much lovelier voice -- sings something close to a great Tristan. Now of course it's nobody's faut that the Suthaus of 1952 didn't sound like that of 1947. But the 1952 performance also lacks the commitment and specificity of the 1947.

I attribute the problem, based on a host of similarly drained-of-life recordings, to producer Walter Legge, who produced a slew of "legendary" opera recordings with famous performers who similarly wound up bearing only the most superficial outward resemblances to their normal performing selves. Legge seems to have thought that, by controlling the casting and the rehearsals as well as the recording sessions, he could "improve" the performances of those famous performers he engaged -- cleanse their work of all that messy stuff that happens, as it were, between the notes. This, I would argue, is the stuff that gives life to a performance.

(A lot of performers refused to work with Legge. Furtwängler himself didn't like or trust him, and apparently accepted him as producer of the Tristan only because he was, in Flagstad's relatively recent association with EMI, "her" producer. When there was extra session time available and a recording of Mahler's Songs of a Wayfarer was scheduled with the Tristan Kurwenal, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Furtwängler apparently insisted on waiting till his EMI producer, Lawrance Collingwood, could be present. Later Otto Klemperer, after the experience of recording Fidelio with Legge in charge, refused to do the planned Magic Flute with Legge if he was present at the rehearsals. His remaining EMI recordings were made with other producers.)

The Karajan La Scala performance for me presents a more sophisticated version of the problem with the Thielemann recording: It moves long smoothly and assuredly, but without -- for me -- any awareness of occasion, of stuff happening. In this respect it seems to me very much like Karajan's 1952 Bayreuth Tristan (his last Bayreuth Festival engagement), and for that matter his eventual EMI commercial recording, with such an interesting-looking cast. Over the years I've gone back to the EMI recording hoping to find a mindset that enables me to get into it. That actually has happened for me with Karajan's Dresden Meistersinger recording, but after 35-plus years of hoping to "crack" the Tristan, I'm not holding my breath. People who admire these performances tend to praise them as "seamless," but seamlessness isn't a quality I associate with life as we live it, and I'm not sure it's an especially admirable quality in art as we experience it.

I've chosen Karajan's 1959 La Scala performance, by the way, rather than the 1952 Bayreuth one or the 1972 commercial recording, for three reasons: (1) Fewer readers are likely to have heard it. (2) It's the only one I have on CD. (3) As we continue on into Act I -- and down below into Act III -- we have something like ideal tenors, in Anton Dermota (Sailor) and Murray Dickie (Shepherd). Good as they are, though, I can't help thinking that they would both have been twice as good with a conductor with a more inquiring feeling for what makes this music move.


WAGNER: Tristan und Isolde: Prelude and Liebestod

But enough of the failed or unsatisfactory peformances. Here are a couple I quite like, both using the frequent concert format linking the end of the Prelude directly to Isolde's "Love-Death." (This format can be used either with or without a singer to sing the Liebestod.)
Isolde's Liebestod

How softly and gently
he smiles,
how sweetly
his eyes open -
can you see, my friends,
do you not see it?
How he glows
ever brighter,
raising himself high
amidst the stars?
Do you not see it?
How his heart
swells with courage,
gushing full and majestic
in his breast?
How in tender bliss
sweet breath
gently wafts
from his lips -
Friends! Look!
Do you not feel and see it?
Do I alone hear
this melody
so wondrously
and gently
sounding from within him,
in bliss lamenting,
all-expressing,
gently reconciling,
piercing me,
soaring aloft,
its sweet echoes
resounding about me?
Are they gentle
aerial waves
ringing out clearly,
surging around me?
Are they billows
of blissful fragrance?
As they seethe
and roar about me,
shall I breathe,
shall I give ear?
Shall I drink of them,
plunge beneath them?
Breathe my life away
in sweet scents?
In the heaving swell,
in the resounding echoes,
in the universal stream
of the world-breath -
to drown,
to founder -
unconscious -
utmost rapture!


Jessye Norman, soprano (in the Liebestod); London Philharmonic Orchestra, Klaus Tennstedt, cond. EMI, recorded December 1987


Christa Ludwig, mezzo-soprano (in the Liebestod); North German Radio (NDR) Orchestra, Hans Knappertsbusch, cond. Live performance, March 24, 1963

As far as I know, Jessye Norman never actually sang Isolde, which is a shame, because this was an Isolde-caliber voice, and especially well-suited to the Liebestod, which starts so low in the voice that it's actually easier for mezzos than for sopranos. This is a plus for Christa Ludwig, who actually flirted with the role, especially under urging from Herbert von Karajan (who had in fact, as a younger conductor, destroyed her mother's voice by pressing her from her natural dramatic-mezzo range into the dramatic-soprano one).


And the winner is . . .


Peter Schreier (t), Young Sailor; Birgit Nilsson (s), Isolde; Christa Ludwig (ms), Brangäne; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded live, 1966

Here again we have the Act I Prelude and the opening of Act I. Karl Böhm isn't generally considered when the lists of great conductors are drawn up, and except in certain repertory, notably certain (but by no means all) works by Mozart and Richard Strauss, he didn't usually bring strikingly personal qualities to the works he performed. (Another obvious exception is that vibrant, loving disc of Johann Strauss works we sampled in Friday night's preview.) You couldn't ascribe any particular performance "philosophy" to him; he seems actually to have had a rather picky, prickly, pedantic personality.

But he dealt directly with the score in front of him, just trying to find the life of it, and an awful lot of his performances have held up amazingly well. I've been listening to this Tristan recording for 40 years now, and it sounds as fresh as ever to me, and as vividly persuasive. I think it's not insignificant that all the soloists give of their best here -- not just Birgit Nilsson, the Isolde, but Christa Ludwig and Eberhard Wächter, the Brangäne and Kurwenal, who do some of their most eloquent singing on records, and even Wolfgang Windgassen, who still doesn't sound like more than a stand-in for a real Tristan, but at that sounds more believable than in the half-dozen or more other Tristan performances of his I have.


THE TRISTAN ACT III PRELUDE

You don't often hear music-lovers naming the Act III Prelude of Tristan as one of their favorite chunks of Wagner. For that matter, you don't often hear much about Act III of Tristan period, except for those final minutes of Isolde's Liebestod. In large part, I think, this is because we've had so few truly adequate Tristans who weren't named Lauritz Melchior, and can take advantage of the remarkable materials Wagner gave him in his dying delirium to help us understand him. I think Wagner certainly wrote lots of music as beautiful as this prelude, but none more beautiful.


WAGNER: Tristan und Isolde: Prelude to Act III


Symphony of the Air, Leopold Stokowski, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded 1960-61

Again, a conductor's ability to draw from his players playing of real purpose and destination is make-or-break. Maybe it's surprising to think of Leopold Stokowski for music that most conductors seem to find so sparse. Stoky had a ball with it, however. And remember, as you listen to the vibrancy and richness of color of the orchestral playing, that the Symphony of the Air was Arturo Toscanini's former NBC Symphony Orchestra. It sure never sounded like this under Toscanini!


WAGNER: Tristan und Isolde: Prelude and opening scene of Act III
From her on in, we're going a bit into Act III, to include the lovely little scene between Kurwenal and the Shepherd and the awakening of the unconscious Tristan. Again, you'll find German and English texts at http://www.rwagner.net/libretti/tristan/e-tristan-a3s1.html.


Erwin Wohlfahrt (t), Shepherd; Eberhard Wächter (b), Kurwenal; Wolfgang Windgassen (t), Tristan; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded live, 1966

Again Böhm rises eloquently to the challenge. In this case I think we have to continue on into the opening of the scene. Maestro Stokowski, unusually for the Act III played as an excerpt (not that it is played that way very often), included the long, haunting English horn solo that's actually part of the opening scene of Act III -- the English horn representing the shepherd in Tristan's native Brittany, to his ancestral home, where his trusty confidant Kurwenal has brought him after he was wounded, very likely mortally, in the duel with Melot that took place between Acts II and III. So it's not just the trusty Kurwenal who's watching over the still-comatose Tristan. The gentle shepherd's deeply felt concern for me sheds another whole light on his identity.


Rudolf Schock (t), Shepherd; Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (b), Kurwenal; Ludwig Suthaus (t), Tristan; Philharmonia Orchestra, Wilhelm Furtwaenger, cond. EMI, recorded 1952


Ludwig Suthaus (t), Tristan; Staatskapelle Berlin, Wilhelm Furtwängler, cond. Live performance, Oct. 3, 1947


Murray Dickie (t), Shepherd; Gustav Neidlinger (bs-b), Kurwenal; Wolfgang Windgassen (t), Tristan; Orchestra of the Teatro alla Scala, Herbert von Karajan, cond. Live performance, Apr. 30, 1959

Unfortunately the Kurwenal-Shepherd scene either was presumably omitted from Furtwängler's 1947 Berlin performance. (After the Act III Prelude, we pick up well after Tristan has awakened, at "Dünkt dich das?") Still, note how completely different the Prelude is, and even more how different the shepherd's English horn solo is. Here it has both rusticity and a mournfulness bordering on pain. I've included the first track of the awakened Tristan so you can hear what Ludwig Suthaus sounded like, and how committedly he performed, only two years earlier in Berlin. As with Act I, in the 1952 studio Tristan it sounds as if the connective tissue has been surgically removed.

And the opening of Act III in the 1959 Karajan-La Scala performance similarly matches the eventlessness of the Act I opening. As I noted, I think it's significant that we've got what should be something like the ideal Shepherd in the Scottish tenor Murray Dickie, a truly brilliant character tenor, but we don't get anything like the vivid chracterization I would have hoped for.


TRISTAN PARTING SHOT: THE NILSSON-BÖHM LIEBESTOD


Birgit Nilsson (s), Isolde; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded live, 1966

I don't see how we can leave our quick survey of Tristan without this bit of closure.


FINALLY, AN INTRODUCTORY LOOK AT PARSIFAL

We've been so busy that I see there's no time for more blather, so we're just going to do some listening to the start of Wagner's last opera. I would be hard put to think of a piece that depends more completely on an understanding of how the music moves.

Last night we heard Eugen Jochum 's beautiful studio recording of the Prelude and "Good Friday Spell." Since I've got the file handy, let's listen to it again.

WAGNER: Parsifal: Prelude and Good Friday Spell


Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Eugen Jochum, cond. DG, recorded December 1957

And now we're going to hear the Prelude and a bit of the opening scene of Act I in my two favorite recordings, conducted by Hans Knappertsbusch and Armin Jordan, and then a live Bayreuth performance conducted by Jochum.
NOTE: You'll find German-English texts for the opening scene of Parsifal at http://www.rwagner.net/libretti/parsifal/e-pars-a1.html. In all three recordings, assuming I've got it right, our excerpt goes up to (but not including) the king, Amfortas's first line, "Recht so, hab' Dank."

WAGNER: Parsifal: Prelude and opening of Act I


Hans Hotter (bs-b), Gurnemanz; Gerd Nienstedt (bs), 2nd Knight; Sona Cervena (s) and Ursula Boese (c), 1st and 2nd Esquires; Irene Dalis (ms), Kundry; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Hans Knappertsbusch, cond. Philips, recorded live, 1962


Robert Lloyd (bs), Gurnemanz; Gilles Cachemaille (b), 2nd Knight; Tamara Herz (s) and Hanna Schaer (ms), 1st and 2nd Esquires; Yvonne Minton (ms), Kundry; Orchestre Philharmonique de Monte Carlo, Armin Jordan, cond. Erato, recorded July 1981


Franz Crass (bs), Gurnemanz; Heinz Feldhoff (b), 2nd Knight; Elisabeth Schwarzenberg (s) and Sieglinde Wagner (ms), 1st and 2nd Esquires; Janis Martin (s), Kundry; Bayreuth Festival Orchestra, Eugen Jochum, cond. Live performance, July 24, 1971

I think of the Knappertsbusch and Jordan performances as being day-and-night different, but they really aren't (their Act I Preludes time out identically -- the things one learns from CDs!), since by 1962 Knappertsbusch's Parsifal had become a good deal less gradual than in the also-wonderful recording made live by Decca at the first postwar Bayreuth Festival in 1951. Still, in general Kna tends to be noticeably slower than Jordan, whom I think of as a non-ideological musical pragmatist, rather like Böhm.

My one regret about the 1971 Jochum-Bayreuth Parsifal is that the sound is merely okay. (I can't help feeling that Bavarian Radio, which produces the Bayreuth broadcasts, has a significantly better-sounding tape.) It's a really lovely performance, which I'd been hoping would turn up since I heard a tape of it a couple of decades ago. (My recollection is that that tape sounded significantly better.)


THIS WEEK'S PREVIEWS

Friday: Musical motion, perpetual and otherwise. Music by Dukas (Mickey Mouse stars in the Sorcerer's Apprentice sequence from Fantasia), Rossini, and Johann Strauss II.
Saturday: Good Wagner conductors find what inside the music makes it move. Music by Wagner (including the helicopter-attack sequence from Apocalypse Now with the "Ride of the Valkyries") plus Lohengrin and Parsifal excerpts.


SUNDAY CLASSICS POSTS

The current list is here.
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