Saturday, June 03, 2017

Bring Me The Head Of Donald J. Trump: Was Kathy Griffin Simply Ahead Of The Curve?

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-by Noah

I've never been a fan of Kathy Griffin, and I'm certainly not a fan of CNN, but she may just have been ahead of the curve with her infamous "severed head" bit. I admit that what she did was more than a bit strong; forgive the pun; too cutting edge. But, in light of what our evil orange Kim Jong-un imitator and wannabe has done with his anti-Earth decision, I suspect more people will eventually come to see Griffin's action as maybe not so far beyond the pale after all. Perhaps, in the meantime, she could just pose with a depiction of a burning, cracking Earth.

Kathy Griffin has apologized, saying what she did went too far. Fellow comic Jamie Foxx had this to say:
Listen, as comedians, sometimes you do go beyond, past the line. I still love Kathy Griffin. She went past the line, she’ll pay for it in the way she pays for it, and we’ll go out and laugh with her again.
Another fellow comic, Jim Carey, has defended her. As Carey said, "The joke is not the problem."

Context matters. In one instance, a comedian held a depiction of the severed head of one asshole. In the other instance, an asshole has gravely endangered the lives of billions of human beings, born and as yet to be born. So, where should Kathy Griffin stand on the scale of inappropriate behavior? I even have to wonder how these two events would have been received if their chronological order had been reversed.

Don the Con, who once characterized Megyn Kelly as having "blood coming out of her eyes, blood coming out of her-- whatever," responded to Griifin’s action by saying that Griffin is sick (pot calling the kettle black there) and that his 11-year-old son, Baron, was having a hard time with what she did. Then again, I am sure that many 11-year-old girls were freaked to hear a presidential candidate bragging about grabbing girls by the pussy and walking into the dressing rooms of naked 13 year old models, etc.




Apparently, like father like son, little Baron has no problem with his mommy’s fab collection of porn pics. Either way, the kid is going to grow up muy warpo just because of his lineage.

Comedy isn’t always pretty. At its darkest, the edgy stuff can even seem to be not comedy at all, but, whatever you want to call it, it sends a message. It is still, under our Constitution, free speech, and, let’s face it, when Republicans are rightly excoriated for literally hanging and burning effigies of Barack Obama and indulging in their birtherism conspiracies and worse, they are the first to yell "free speech" and whine about political correctness.




El Señor Trumpanzee himself has encouraged violence at his rallies, saying that he would even cover the legal fees. Like others in his party, he has hinted about second amendment solutions to his political rivals such as Hillary Clinton. So, Trump is a fine one to jump all over Kathy Griffin for what she did. Dear Don the Con, how ‘bout seeing to your own backyard.

By and large, most Americans, regardless of where their individual politics land on the political spectrum condemned Griffin’s action. However, Trump and his supporters are now engaged in one of the things that is a favorite pastime of Republicans, bullying and even death threats. For what? Free speech? The stench of hypocrisy is strong with these people.

Why our sorry excuse for a so-called leader does what he does is much discussed. He is a Marvel Comics or DC Comics Lex Luther-esq villain come to life, right down to his freakish facial expressions and bizarre hair. The serious mental illness of the man is a given. It actually goes without saying. How any clear-headed person can watch him and listen to him speak without seeing the obvious sickness is beyond any rationality.

Does Trump support the mass death-causing elimination of healthcare for millions after promising the opposite because, like a comic book villain, he is so angry at humanity over some misperceived slights in his past? Did he withdraw our country from the Paris Accords, eliminate millions of future renewable energy jobs, and, lower our standing in the world community for the same reason? How many Americans will his environmental policies end up killing? The answer to that one is more than all terrorist attacks to date.




Is Trump’s megalomania so far out of control that he is determined to have his name writ huuuge in history by continually committing crimes against all of humanity no matter what? History is full of horrifically disturbed Lee Harvey Oswalds, mad bombers, and authoritarian despots who felt the same way. For true psychopaths, having their names in the bright lights and history books is the important thing, not necessarily how they got there.

Suppose that, later this year, it is proven that Donald J. Trump is what he appears to be, a Russian agent, a Manchurian President who has been doing Putin’s bidding every step of the way, from eliminating the sanctions on Russia to dividing us away from our strongest allies, and hampering our future economy. Renewable energy jobs? Who needs ‘em? How many Americans then will agree with or feel a bit better about what Kathy Griffin did? How many will see her as yet another artist who once presented a prescient glimpse of the future?

In what is left of that future, our grandchildren will suffer from the results of a Trump presidency. Trump’s grandchildren may very well have to change their surnames.



And, a little thank you from all of us at DWT for a Saturday night/Sunday morning... a kind of bonus. Enjoy:



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Sunday, March 29, 2015

Sunday Classics snapshots: Count Almaviva goes a-wooing, then and now

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Urged on by Figaro (Ross Benoliel), "Lindoro" (Luigi Boccia as Count Almaviva) identifies himself to Rosina (Stephanie Lauricella), with Enrico Granafei playing the guitar and Jason Tramm conducting, at New Jersey State Opera, June 2012. (For English text, see below.)

by Ken

I'd like to think we established the premise well enough in last week's "snapshots" post, "Rosina I and Rosina II," where we heard aural snapshots of young Rosina first as the spitfire being wooed by the supposed poor student Lindoro in the opera Rossini fashioned from the popular Beaumarchais play The Barber of Seville, and then, a mere three years later, as the desolate, pretty much emotionally abandoned Countess Almaviva in the opera Mozart fashioned from Beaumarchais's equally popular sequel, The Marriage of Figaro.


I HOPE AURAL TRANSFORMATION OF ROSINA
CAME AS A SHOCK -- A REALLY HORRIBLE SHOCK


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Sunday, March 22, 2015

Sunday Classics snapshots: Rosina I and Rosina II

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Victoria de los Angeles as Rosina II at the Met in 1952

Rosina I
I'm docile, I'm respectful;
I'm obedient, gentle, loving;
I let myself be ruled and guided. But --
but if you touch on my weakness,
I shall be a viper, I shall,
and a hundred tricks
I'll play before I'll yield.
And a hundred tricks, etc.
I'm docile, I'm respectful;
I let myself be ruled and guided, etc.

Victoria de los Angeles (s), Rosina; Orchestra of the Teatro Colón (Buenos Aires), Carlo Felice Cillario, cond. Live performance, June 1962

Rosina II
Grant, love, that relief
to my sorrow, to my sighing.
Give me back my treasure,
or at least let me die.
Grant, love, etc.

Victoria de los Angeles (s), Rosina; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Fritz Reiner, cond. Live performance, Mar. 1, 1952

by Ken

It's not that we've never done this sort of thing before in Sunday Classics. In fact, I like to think we've taken pretty frequent advantage of the oportunity afforded by this peculiar, er, format, to put together any two (or three or more) damned things we want which can benefit from being heard together. Butting together "the two Rosinas," as we've just done, is an idea so obvious that it doesn't seem to occur to many people that it really doesn't get done that often.

Well, here it is.


MY NEED TO DO THIS JUXTAPOSITION STARTED . . .

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Sunday, May 26, 2013

Sunday Classics: The young Colin Davis gets off to a running start

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The early-career Colin Davis

MOZART: The Abduction from the Seraglio, K. 384: Overture (with concert ending)

Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Colin Davis, cond. EMI, recorded c1961

by Ken

In this week's preview, I took a stab at describing the "happy traits" of Colin Davis's early career: a natural sense of musical flow coupled with a preference for having the music play with determination and make its points naturally. By way of illustration, I offered the vivid performances of Mozart's Idomeneo and Clemenza di Tito Overtures from CD's c1961 EMI LP of nine Mozart overtures, as contrasted with the still-pretty-good but noticeably more forced performances from his c1989 BMG CD of 12 Mozart overtures. We also heard the Magic Flute Overture from both Mozart overture records along with the performance from Davis's 1984 Philips recording of the complete opera.

As I've said before, very likely a bunch of times (at least I hope so!), there aren't many things I value more in the realm of art than the alert musical instincts of a talented musician. That innate talent still needs a whole lot of developing, including in the direction of expanding, both widening and deepening, in order to provide a true underpinning for an artistically productive career. But without this innate musicality as a starting point, where is there for the would-be musician to develop?


EVENTUALLY WE'LL HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE
NONDEVELOPMENT OF DAVIS'S GOOD INSTINCTS


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Sunday, October 14, 2012

Sunday Classics: Anatomy of an overture -- Rossini's "L'Italiana in Algeri"

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Sir Neville Marriner conducts the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields in a 2006 Rheingau Music Festival performance of Rossini's L'Italiana in Algeri Overture that's even a bit broader than the wonderful 1974 recording we're going to hear.

by Ken

In the concert hall there aren't many more atmospheric musical openings than that of the Overture to Rossini's L'Italiana in Algeri (The Italian Woman in Algiers), an it makes for an opening that's if anything more atmospheric in the opera house.

As I mentioned in Friday night's preview, we're at the opposite end of Rossini's career from what I called the "post-theatrical" one, which followed the 1829 premiere of William Tell in Paris, where the composer had relocated in 1824. The reason I wanted to present something from that long period (remembering that he lived on till 1868), in this case the tenor's "Cujus animam" from the Stabat Mater (1831-41), was to show that Rossini (a) didn't stop composing and (b) hadn't suddenly lost his skills or inspiration.

In fact, the very busy decade of opera composing that preceded Rossini's sudden withdrawal from the stage raises a lot of questions of its own. There's a lot of fine music there, and a number of operas that can speak to audiences given adeqaute consideration, understanding, and in many cases casting -- conditions that pretty much never apply. A lot of William Tell itself rises to powerful heights, as we've discussed and heard a bit, but I think it would be incredibly difficult to make this real for audiences and also deal with the portions of it that don't seem to work so well.

In fact, for all the explorations and exhumations of Rossini's vast output, his position in the repertory still rests on the three comic masterpieces he wrote between 1813 and 1817. This may be a good time to listen again to the very opening of the Overture to L'Italiana in Algeri, eight bars scored just for softly plucked strings until that thundering from the full orchestra on the downbeat of bar 8.

ROSSINI: L'Italiana in Algeri: Overture -- Andante, part 1


(1) Bamberg Symphony Orchestra, Giuseppe Patané, cond.
(2) Philharmonia Orchestra, Erich Leinsdorf, cond.
(3) National Symphony Orchestra, Riccardo Chailly, cond.
(4) Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, Neville Marriner, cond.

Note that in just these eight bars we can hear that we have four very different performances, starting with the quickest, Giuseppe Patané's (using tempos very similar to those of Arturo Toscanini) and proceeding to almost equally broad ones from Riccardo Chailly and Nville Marriner. The Marriner performance is set apart by a distinctive, much more firmly plucked pizzicato from his strings.

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Friday, October 12, 2012

Sunday Classics preview: The post-operatic Rossini

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Tenor Dalmacio Gonzalez sings the "Cuius animam" from Rossini's Stabat Mater -- in an August 1981 Proms performance with the Philharmona Orchestra conducted by Carlo Maria Giulini. (DG made a recording with the same forces as the Proms performance.)

by Ken

It's impossible to talk about the career of Gioachhino Rossini (1792-1868) without taking note of the fact that, though he lived almost another 40 years, he completed his last opera, William Tell, in 1829, at the age of 37. With his retirement from the stage he didn't stop composing, though -- though now, freed from the exigencies of opera-house work, he could decide what and when to compose (probably the most representative products of this period are the short instrumental and vocal pieces collected as his Sins of Old Age), and didn't show a lot of concern for unleashing these works on the public.

Among the "post-theatrical" compositions are Rossini's two major sacred works, the Stabat Mater (1831-1841) and the Petite Messe solenelle (1864-67). The highly unorthodox Mass clearly qualifies as a "late" work, whereas Rossini's setting of the medieval Latin poem Stabat mater dolorosa (The Sorrowful Mother Stood) was completed well before the composer's 50th birthday. For our purposes this week, however, it does give us one example of music that came from his pen following his retirement from the stage.

What we're hearing tonight is the famous tenor solo, "Cujus animam gementem" (which soars famously up to higher-than-high-C high D-flat). I don't think it's going out on a limb to suggest that not many composers would have heard music anything like what Rossini did for the "Cujus animam."

The Caruso and Bjoerling recordings were done as 78s, and so were almost certainly influenced by the 78-side recording limitation. Even so, I think it's fair to say that the Giulini-conducted performance in the video clip above is really broadly paced, even more so than the 1967 Rome Radio performance from which we hear Luciano Pavarotti singing the "Cujus animam" below. For comparison, we're also hearing the Decca studio recording Pavarotti made just a few years later with István Kertész.

ROSSINI: Stabat Mater: "Cujus animam gementem"
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
all His bitter anguish bearing,

now at length the sword has passed.

O how sad and sore distressed

was that Mother, highly blest,
of the sole-begotten One.

Christ above in torment hangs,

she beneath beholds the pangs

of her dying glorious Son.
[English adaptation by Victorian poet-composer Edward Caswall]

Enrico Caruso, tenor; Victor Orchestra. Victor, recorded Dec. 15, 1913

Jussi Bjoerling, tenor; orchestra, Nils Grevillius, cond. EMI, recorded Oct. 12, 1938

Luciano Pavarotti, tenor; RAI Symphony Orchestra, Rome, Carlo Maria Giulini, cond. Live performance, Dec. 22, 1967

Luciano Pavarotti, tenor; London Symphony Orchestra, István Kertész, cond. Decca, recorded March 1971


IN THIS WEEK'S SUNDAY CLASSICS POST

We're actually going to be focusing on the other end of Rossini's creative career.
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Sunday, March 11, 2012

Sunday Classics: Introducing Saint-Saëns' Samson, the second-angriest man in opera

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Tenor José Cura as Samson in Karlsruhe, 2010. We're going to hear him later (perhaps not all that happily). For now, let's recall from Friday night's preview how Saint-Saëns' opera begins.
CHORUS OF HEBREWS [behind the curtain]: God!
God of Israel! Hear the prayer
of your children, imploring you on our knees;
take pity on your people and our misery!
Let our sorrow disarm your wrath!

Bavarian Radio Chorus and Symphony Orchestra, Sir Colin Davis, cond. Philips, recorded February 1989

by Ken

In Friday night's preview we started poking at Saint-Saëns' Samson et Dalila, specifically the opening scene. We heard the very opening of the opera and then jumped a bit to the exhortation from Samson which finally gets through to his ceaselessly whining oppressed fellow Hebrews. I noted then that we were skipping over important material but provided assurance that we would fill the gap today. Well, sort of. We're going to plug the single most important piece of that gap: Samson's first exhortation to his fellow Hebrews.

We've already met the Angriest Man in Opera, Rossini's William Tell (in an October 2009 series of posts culminating in "So why is this fellow William Tell so angry anyways?"), whose zero tolerance level for the oppressive Austrian occupation of Switzerland poisons any pleasure he might derive from his undeniably pleasant physical surroundings and his lovely family. This week we're encountering the runner-up. Here's the opening of Act I, the dawn of a beautiful day on a Swiss riverbank.

ROSSINI: William Tell: Act I, Opening chorus and quartet
CHORUS: What a serene day the sky portends!
Let us celebrate in our concerts;
let the echoes from this riverbank
raise our songs into the air!
By our labors we render homage
to the creator of the universe.
What a serene day, etc.

Quartet
FISHERMAN: Step into my little boat,
o maiden shy,
pray come, and bring contentment
to my tender heart.
I leave the riverbank,
Lisbeth, or rather on the way;
Ah, come, the sky without cloud
promises us a beautiful day.
WILLIAM TELL: He sings in his giddiness
of his pleasures, of his mistress;
by the trouble that oppresses me
he isn't tormented.
What a joke is life!
For us no more fatherland!
He sings, and Switzerland
weeps, weeps for its freedom.
JEMMY and HEDWIGE TELL: His imprudent courage
cries out for a shipwreck
and defying the storm
he thinks only of the return.

Charles Burles (t), Fisherman; Gabriel Bacquier (b), William Tell; Mady Mespé (s), Jemmy Tell; Jocelyne Taillon (ms), Hedwige Tell; Ambrosian Opera Chorus, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Lamberto Gardelli, cond. EMI, recorded July-Sept. 1972

Samson is burning inside as feverishly as Tell, but he faces a very different situation. Tell's placid Swiss countrymen are able to ignore the Austrian oppression because, well, life is good, comfort-wise. Samson's fellow Hebrews are only too aware of their misery, and bemoan it endlessly, but seem unable to do anything about it. Which is the point where he steps forward, as we'll hear in the click-through.


TO HEAR SAMSON'S FIRST OUTBURST, AND SOME
OTHER GREAT TENOR EXHORTATIONS, CLICK HERE

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Sunday, January 29, 2012

Sunday Classics: With the full symphony orchestra you can create a heckuva storm (aka: Musical storms, part 2)

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There are funny storms too! Alexander Prior conducts the deliciously raging thunderstorm in Act II of Rossini's Barber of Seville at the Chuvash National Opera in the Volga River port of Cheboksary, capital of Russia's Chuvash Republic, November 2009. We've got some better performances coming up in the click-through.
As music lovers know, the hint of a distant storm from a few timpani rolls can be as evocative as the crepuscular waves portrayed by Constable. The ability of music both directly to mimic the sounds of the weather and indirectly to imply its subtler moods perhaps gives this medium more scope for dramatic expression than the visual arts and literature, which unavoidably are limited to more literal interpretations.
-- Karen L. Aplin and Paul D. Williams,
in "Meteorological phenomena in Western classical
orchestral music
," in the November issue of Weather

by Ken

Just for the record, the authors of the above-cited monograph hail from the Dept. of Physics, University of Oxford (Aplin), and the Dept. of Meteorology, University of Reading (Williams). If that gives you a gnawing bad feeling, trust it. When I discovered the piece, I thought at first it was a happy coincidence that such a piece had been published just as I was setting out to write about musical storms. Then I started reading the piece. And I was reminded why I rigorously avoided taking any academic classes that impinged on my love of music. If you were thinking there was bound to be some fun in such a piece, so was I. We were all wrong.

Anyway, we began listening to our storms imagined in music a couple of weeks ago, leading off with probably the most celebrated from the concert repertory, the sequence from Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony that includes his famous thunderstorm, and surely the most spectacular storm in the operatic repertory, the cataclysm that opens Verdi's Otello -- and nearly rings down the curtain on the opera when Otello's ship is nearly dragged under as it approaches the Cypriot shore. For good measure we threw in a less threatening operatic storm, the beautiful "Royal Hunt and Storm" sequence from Berlioz's epic opera The Trojans.

In Friday's preview we took a step back in time to hear what Vivaldi could do stormwise with just the modest baroque orchestras -- incorporating storm movements in three of the Four Seasons. Today we track what some composers have done with the increasingly resource-rich resources of the modern symphony orchestra.

One perhaps obvious observation is still worth observing: that there's not much point in doing a musical storm if you don't also provide a sort of musical "baseline" -- life as it was being carried on before the storm and as it continues afterward. Beethoven, for example, gave us his countryside peasants dancing merrily before the interruption of the weather event, and then the the merry-making that follows it. The storm itself is brief, but illustrates thrillingly the cleansing, purifying, and exhilarating effect a storm can have. Just to refresh our memory, why don't we listen again to the Klemperer recording with the slow "Peasants' Dance" that producer Walter Legge very likely never did get used to.

BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 6 in F, Op. 68 (Pastoral):
iii. Merry gathering of the peasants: Allegro
iv. Thunderstorm: Allegro
v. Shepherd's song; Happy and grateful feelings after the storm: Allegretto


Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond. EMI, recorded October 1957

I thought of including the "Scene in the fields" from Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique, which we listened to in June 2010), itself a clear hommage to Beethoven's thunderstorm. But the distant thunder near the end seems kind of incidental for our purposes. In that 2010 post you can hear a quite lovely performance of the movement by Paul Paray and the Detroit Symphony.

Okay, you talked me into it; here's the Paray "Scene in the fields" again. Just as a reminder: The composer's program for the movement concludes: "The sun retires . . . distant noise of thunder . . . solitude . . . silence . . ."

BERLIOZ: Symphonie fantastique, Op. 14:
iii. Scène aux champs (Scene in the fields)


Detroit Symphony Orchestra, Paul Paray, cond. Mercury, recorded Nov. 28, 1959


LET'S MOVE ON TO A REAL STORM, THE CLIMAX
OF FERDE GROFÉ'S GRAND CANYON SUITE


Again, we've heard the Grand Canyon Suite in its entirely, in a July 2010 Fourth of July post. At this point in the piece we've witnessed an awesome musical "Sunrise" and the spooky "Painted Desert," ridden our burros "On the Trail," and watched the "Sunset." You never know when you may be caught in a cloudburst.

GROFÉ: Grand Canyon Suite:
v. Cloudburst


Eastman-Rochester Orchestra, Howard Hanson, cond. Mercury, recorded May 1958

Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, Lorin Maazel, cond. CBS/Sony, recorded Sept. 30, 1991

RECORDING NOTE: I know there's a resistance among many modern listeners to "old" recordings like these. It still seems to me that the recording art has gone mostly backward, not forward, since, say, the late '60s. If anyone has heard an orchestral recording made in the last 20 years remotely comparable in sonic beauty or believability to the 1958 and 1959 Mercury recordings we've just heard, I'd sure like to know what it is.


COMING UP: STORMS BY RICHARD STRAUSS,
GRIEG, BRITTEN, AND ROSSINI -- CLICK HERE


(And, oh yes, we've also got a storm-pretender from the Waltz King, Johann Strauss II.)

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, January 15, 2012

Sunday Classics: Stormy weather, part 1

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Lena Horne sings what the YouTube poster aptly describes as her "signature song," "Stormy Weather," from the 1943 film Stormy Weather.

by Ken

In Friday night's preview we heard two thrilling musical excerpts: Otello's first appearance in Verdi's opera, offering his ringing declamation "Esultate" upon his safe arrival on Cypriot soil after his ship appeared to be doomed off the coast amid a raging storm; and the final movement of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, "Shepherd's song; Happy and grateful feelings after the storm." Our theme might have been described as "After the Storm."

Here's just the first minute-plus of Otello, which plunges us quite violently into the storm. (You'll recall that we've made the point a number of times that in Otello for the first time Verdi dispensed with an overture or even shorter-form prelude. He would do it again in his next and last opera, Falstaff.
I THINK WE HAVE MUSIC TODAY,
BUT I'M NOT MAKING ANY PROMISES


Perhaps related to the changes I'll talk about in the clickthrough, our musical host, Internet Archive has been kerplooey since last night, and much of today wasn't coughing up audio for embedded files. So I decided to reinstate the "audio links" I had experimented with for a while and then abandoned, since as of last night clips were still playing onsite. Only then clips weren't playing onsite. And then the embedded clips seemed to be working again, though I still can't upload new files. Fortunately I had already uploaded everything except one file (noted below) for what has turned out to be Part 1 of our "Stormy Weather" post. (It's a good thing I had already decided to spin off a Part 2, because a number of those files remained to be uploaded.)

I guess we'll see what happens! Just remember, if the embedded clips don't play, it's possible that the "audio link" ones will. It's the same music, same files -- just a different way of getting at it.


VERDI: Otello: Act I, opening
THE CROWD: A sail! A sail!
A standard! A standard!
MONTANO: It’s the Winged Lion!
CASSIO: We can see it when the lightning flashes.
THE CROWD: A trumpet call!
A cannon shot!
CASSIO: It’s Otello’s ship.
MONTANO: The violent waves
make it rise and fall.
CASSIO: They lift the bow skyward!
THE CROWD: The clouds and sea conceal it.
And lightning now reveals it.
Lightning. Thunder. Vortex.
All the tempest’s fury.

Alan Opie (b), Montano; Antony Rolfe Johnson (t), Cassio; Chicago Symphony Chorus and Orchestra, Sir Georg Solti, cond. Decca, recorded in concert in Chicago and New York, April 1991

And here's the thunderstorm that precedes the concluding "Thanksgiving" movement of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony. I was all set to upload the later Chicago Symphony recording by Sir Georg Solti (see, to "match" the Otello excerpt above) when uploading went down, but here's a nice video version I found.

BEETHOVEN: Symphony No. 6 in F, Op. 68 (Pastoral):
iv. Thunderstorm: Allegro


London Symphony Orchestra, Bernard Haitink, cond. Recorded November 2005

In case you haven't guessed yet, our subject today is musical storms. In the click-through, in addition to hearing the whole opening scene of Otello and hearing Beethoven's thunderstorm in symphonic context, we've got a bunch of other dandy musical storms on tap.


TO CONTINUE WITH OUR MUSICAL STORMS
BY VERDI AND BEETHOVEN, 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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Saturday, January 29, 2011

[1/29/12] With the full symphony orchestra you can create a heckuva storm (continued)

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BEFORE WE CONTINUE, LET'S DISPOSE OF ONE
FAMOUS MUSICAL STORM THAT REALLY ISN'T


J. STRAUSS II: Unter Donner und Blitzen (Amid Thunder and Lightning), Op. 324

This breathless little polka is understandably one of the Waltz King's best-loved works, but despite all that supposed thunder, the thing has never sounded very thundery or lightningy to me. Carlos Kleiber (sort of) conducts the Bavarian State Orchestra in Tokyo, May 1986.


WE HEARD VIVALDI CONJURE STORMS WITH A MERE
BAROQUE ENSEMBLE. HERE'S . . . RICHARD STRAUSS


If there's a wizard among orchestral wizards, surely it's Richard Strauss. I imagine his basic position to have been: If it can be done with an orchestra, I can do it. Sometimes he seems to have taken on just this sort of thing as a personal challenge. A "day in the life" at home? Can do -- the Symphonia domestica. An arduous mountain ascent and descent? Sure thing -- An Alpine Symphony.

Because the Alpine Symphony in particular is so expertly written, it's grand fun for the performers to perform, perhaps more fun (it has sometimes seemed to me) than for listeners. Still, when the performers are skilled enough and engaged enough, the results can be surprisingly persuasive. Curiously, Georg Solti and Herbert von Karajan recorded the piece about a year apart, and I think the results --very different, I think you'll note -- occupy special places in these conductors' mammoth discographies. I had no idea when I grudgingly bought the Karajan that I would listen to it as often as I have.

In our Alpine adventure there is, not surprisingly, a fair amount of weather detail. Here, for example, is a wisp of a fragment that occurs late in the piece, after the climber has reached the summit. I should warn that since Strauss's symphonic "program" is continuous, fragments ripped out of context really sound it.

R. STRAUSS: An Alpine Symphony, Op. 64: Mists rise; The sun gradually dims

Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Sir Georg Solti, cond. Decca, recorded 1979

Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. DG, recorded December 1980

A coupe of minutes later we're set up for one of the great musical storms. We can trust that Strauss was familiar with all those earlier efforts, and was surely confident that he could have his own say.

R. STRAUSS: An Alpine Symphony, Op. 64: Calm before the storm; Thunderstorm, Descent; Sunset

Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Sir Georg Solti, cond. Decca, recorded 1979

Berlin Philharmonic, Herbert von Karajan, cond. DG, recorded December 1980

Now we're going to hear the complete sequence, including the little in-between "Elegy" we haven't heard yet. Again, bear in mind that the Alpine Symphony is musically continuous. While the concertgoer would presumably be provided with a list of the section identifiers, there would be no artificial separations like our unwieldy track changes. Since the Telarc Alpine Symphnony indexes rather than tracks these points, in our format it comes out musically continuous, which for us effectively "takes the training wheels off" and lets us hear this sequence as the composer expected the whole Alpine Symphony to be heard.

(I might also note quickly that in our four recordings of this orchestral display piece we're hearing four of the world's preeminent Strauss orchestras. I've noted before when we've dipped into it that the extensive series of Strauss orchestral works by Rudolf Kempe and the Staatskapelle Dresden seems to me on all counts one of the most impressive projects in the history of orchestral recording -- though the CDs don't seem to me to have done it justice.)

R. STRAUSS: An Alpine Symphony, Op. 64: Mists rise; The sun gradually dims; Elegy; Calm before the storm; Thunderstorm, Descent; Sunset


Staatskapelle Dresden, Rudolf Kempe, cond. EMI, recorded December 1972

Vienna Philharmonic, André Previn, cond. Telarc, recorded Nov. 22-24, 1989


COMPOSERS FOR THE STAGE MAY HAVE TO DO STORMS FOR
DRAMATIC PURPOSE -- LIKE MR. GRIEG AND MR. BRITTEN


We already heard in the earlier post two prime theatrical specimens: the violent opening scene of Verdi's Otello and the very different storm in Berlioz's Trojans which serves as the occasion for the, er, coming together of Dido and Aeneas.

Here's a storm we've heard before, in February 2010 as part of the Peer Gynt Suite No. 2. It had been composed with the large quantity of incidental music the composer provided for Ibsen's play, where it served as the prelude to Act V. (Which reminds me that one of these days we still have to do a post on Grieg's incidental music in theatrical context.)

GRIEG: Peer Gynt (incidental music): Prelude to Act V: Peer's Homeward Journey (Stormy Evening at Sea)
NARRATOR: Peer Gynt, by now a vigorous old man with hair gray as ice. Stormy crossing and homecoming.

Friedhelm Eberle, narrator; Gewandhaus Orchestra (Leipzig), Kurt Masur, cond. Philips, recorded March 1988

Berlin Philharmonic, Jeffrey Tate, cond. EMI, recorded March 1990

Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra, Neeme Järvi, cond. DG, recorded June 1987

Straddling the line between "concert" and "stage" storm is the violent interlude Britten composed to bridge the two scenes of Act I of Peter Grimes, which has an important theatrical function but has taken on an active concert life as part of the understandably popular suite of Four Sea Interludes (with or without the Passacaglia) from Peter Grimes. (In the suite of interludes it's placed last, for fairly obvious reasons, I think.)

We've heard the 1973 Bernstein "Storm" Interlude before, in a November 2009 Britten post along with the other three interludes. I failed to point out then that Lenny had a history with Peter Grimes. In 1946, at age 28, he conducted the American premiere of the opera, at the Tanglewood Festival. The Sea Interludes were also on the program for his final concert, in August 1990 -- at Tanglewood. I thought we might hear that notably broader performance too. We lead off with a violently impassioned performance by an unexpected Brittenite, Carlo Maria Giulini (who was later asked by the composer to conduct his War Requiem).

BRITTEN: Peter Grimes, Op. 33: Act I: Storm Interlude: Presto con fuoco -- Molto animato -- Largamente -- Tempo I


Philharmonia Orchestra, Carlo Maria Giulini, cond. EMI, recorded c1963

New York Philharmonic, Leonard Bernstein, cond. Columbia/CBS/Sony, recorded Mar. 8, 1973

Boston Symphony Orchestra, Leonard Bernstein, cond. DG, recorded live at the Tanglewood Festival, Aug. 19, 1990

To really appreciate how Britten musicalizes this storm and how it's woven into the action of the opera, we need to back up a bit into Act I, Scene 1, as the approach of the storm is registered, and then listen a bit into Act II, as the storm batters "the Borough" -- on England's Suffolk coast -- at hurricane force. (We performed a similar exercise with the first interlude, "Dawn," which joins the Prologue and Act I, in our November 2009 Britten post.) We're only venturing about a minute into Scene 2, but that's long enough to appreciate how Britten handles the storm. As pretty much the whole of the Borough finds its way into the Boar inn, even though Auntie is trying to close for the night, each time the door opens the storm churns again in the orchestra until the storm refugees manage to get the door closed again.

BRITTEN: Peter Grimes, Op. 33, Act I Scene 1, The storm is here; Storm Interlude; Scene 2 beginning
ACT I, Scene 1 has taken place in the street in the Borough in front of the Moot Hall (where, in the Prologue, a coroner's inquest into the death of the fisherman Peter Grimes's young apprentice took place), the Boar inn (run by "Auntie"), and the shop of the apothecary Ned Keene, opposite breakwaters that run to the sea. Locals wandered in and out of the scene amid growing indications of an approaching storm. At this point the retired merchant captain Balstrode has been encouraging Grimes, still held responsible for the death of the boy despite being spared indictment at the inquest, to leave the Borough. Peter, imagining marrying the kindly schoolteacher Ellen Orford, resolves instead to stay.

CAPTAIN BALSTRODE: The storm, the storm is here, o come away!
PETER GRIMES: The storm is here, and I, and I shall stay!
[BALSTRODE leaves PETER and goes into the Boar. PETER alone -- gazing intently into the sea and approaching storm.]
What harbour shelters peace,
away from tidal waves, away from storms?
What harbour can embrace terrors and tragedies?
With her there'll be no quarrels,
with her the mood will stay
a harbour evermore,
where night is turned to day.
[CURTAIN]

Storm Interlude

Scene 2
Inside the Boar, the same night. AUNTIE is admitting MRS. SEDLEY. The gale is now at hurricane force and they push the door shut with difficulty.

AUNTIE: Past time to close!
MRS. SEDLEY: He -- he -- he said half past ten.
AUNTIE: Who?
MRS. SEDLEY: Mister Keene.
AUNTIE: Him and his women!
MRS. SEDLEY: You referring to me?
AUNTIE: Not at all, not at all!
What do you want?
MRS. SEDLEY: Room from the storm.
AUNTIE: That is the sort of weak politeness
makes a publican lose her clients.
Keep in the corner out of sight.
[BALSTRODE and some of the fishermen enter. They struggle with the door.]
CAPTAIN BALSTRODE: [Whistles] That's a bitch of a gale all right.
AUNTIE: Sh-h-h!
CAPTAIN BALSTRODE: Sorry, I didn't see you, Missis.
You'll give the regulars a surprise.
AUNTIE: She's meeting Ned.
CAPTAIN BALSTRODE: Which Ned?
AUNTIE: The quack! He's looking after her heart attack.
CAPTAIN BALSTRODE: Bring us a pint.
AUNTIE: It's closing time.
CAPTAIN BALSTRODE: You fearful old female, why should you mind?
AUNTIE: Th-e-e-e-e storm!
[BOB BOLES and some other fishermen and women enter. The wind howls through the door.]
BOB BOLES: Did you hear the tide has broken over the North Road?
[The window shutters blow open.]
CAPTAIN BALSTRODE: Get those shutters!

Donald Gramm (bs-b), Captain Balstrode; Jon Vickers (t), Peter Grimes; Lili Chookasian (c), Auntie; Jean Kraft (ms), Mrs. Sedley; Paul Franke (t), Bob Boles; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, John Pritchard, cond. Live performance, Dec. 10, 1977

Anthony Michaels-Moore (b), Captain Balstrode; Glenn Winslade (t), Peter Grimes; Jill Grove (c), Auntie; Catherine Wyn-Rogers (ms), Mrs. Sedley; Christopher Gillett (t), Bob Boles; London Symphony Orchestra, Sir Colin Davis, cond. LSO Live, recorded live in concert at the Barbican (London), January 2004


LET'S WIND IT UP FOR TODAY BY GIVING A PROPER
HEARING TO ROSSINI'S RIB-TICKLING TEMPEST


I'm not sure this storm serves any dramatic purpose -- I mean as a storm. As an interlude, it definitely allows the action time to percolate and set up the opera's grand climax. But as a storm specifically, well, it can provide the stage director with the opportunity to create some (usually hokey) visual effects.

I made two new files for this post, and the Naples and Bucharest ones, and then discovered that I'd already made one of the New York performance, which I don't think we actually heard -- I think that was for another post that's still to come. I really like the hammed-up Leinsdorf performance (I don't think Rossini necessarily meant this storm to be subtle), but I acknowledge that Varviso has as much fun with his straighter approach. Finally, there's a special breath-of-life quality to the Romanian Barber recording from which we hear the storm.

ROSSINI: The Barber of Seville:
Act II, The Storm


Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Erich Leinsdorf, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded 1958

Orchestra Rossini of Naples, Silvio Varviso, cond. Decca, recorded c1964

Orchestra of the Romanian Opera, Bucharest, Mihai Brediceanu, cond. Electrecord/Vox, recorded 1960-61


STILL TO COME: MORE OPERATIC STORMS WOVEN INTO THE
ACTION -- LIKE ANOTHER BY VERDI AND ONE BY JANÁČEK


Maybe next week. Or maybe the week after -- it's hard to say with scientific precision.


RETURN TO THE BEGINNING OF THE POST

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Saturday, June 19, 2010

Sunday Classics flashback and tribute: More of Berlioz' "Roméo" -- and of tenor Cesare Valletti

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Soprano Roberta Peters and tenor Cesare Valletti were the Rosina and Almaviva of Cyril Ritchard's 1954 Met production of Rossini's Barber of Seville as well as the 1958 Met studio recording made by RCA.

by Ken

No, I haven't forgotten about Berlioz' Roméo et Juliette. Now that, as of last night's "flashback," we've gotten through the prologuelike Part I, we need to go back over all the orchestral music from Parts II and III which we heard in last Friday's preview, and then tackle the great finale of reconciliation.

For tonight, let's just recall the explanation Berlioz offers in the Preface to Roméo as to why he chose to entrust "the famous scenes of the garden and the cemetery, the dialogue of the two lovers, the asides of Juiet and the impassioned expressions of Romeo" to the orchestra alone, beyond the fact that "we're dealing with a symphony and not an opera," which of course is entirely his own distinction:
[D]uets of this nature having been treated vocally a thousand times and by the greatest masters, it was prudent as well as intriguing to attempt a different mode of expression. It's also because the very sublimeness of that love made portraying it so dangerous for the musician that he had to give his imagination a latitude that the positive sense of sung words wouldn't have allowed him, and recourse to instrumental language, a language richer, more varied, and less fixed, and, by its very vagueness, incomparably more powerful in such a case.

When I first quoted this last week, I should have pinned down on the spot what the composer was talking about, but I left it to the reader to refer back to the preview in which we'd already heard much of this sublime music. (What can I say? We had so much work to do on Part I and its connection to Berlioz' opera Béatrice et Bénédict, and we still didn't get through it!) To make partial amends, let's dip into that sublime music, first with an orchestral suite conducted by Pierre Boulez which I suddenly rediscovered while I was trying to get my Mahler CDs into some sort of order (it's a filler to his BBC Symphony performance of the Third Symphony).

BERLIOZ: Roméo et Juliette: Orchestral excerpts:
i. Part II, 2. Love Scene
ii.
[15:28] Part II, 3. Queen Mab Scherzo
iii.
[22:31] Part II, 1. Romeo alone -- Melancholy -- Distant noises of music and dancing -- Grand festivities at the Capulets'


New York Philharmonic, Pierre Boulez, cond. Recorded live in Lucerne, 1975

Two notes about this suite:

(1) The order, you'll note, doesn't follow that of either Shakespeare's drama or Berlioz' dramatic symphony. The "Romeo Alone" sequence begins Berlioz' Part II, and is followed by the "Love Scene" and "Queen Mab Scherzo."

(2) The standard orchestral version of the "Love Scene" begins as Berlioz wrote it, with the atmospheric orchestral introduction for full strings with selective wind participation (note the simple but haunting alternating-two-note horn solo at 0:52 in the Boulez performance). However, at about 1:11 we skip over some 80 bars of choral writing depicting the departure of the guests from the Capulets' great ball -- which in our suite hasn't even happened yet! -- taking us smack into the Adagio that marks the proper start of the "Love Scene," in which I hope you'll recognize some music we've heard before, in the preliminary telling of the story in Part I.


AN IMPROMPTU TRIBUTE TO CESARE VALLETTI

In listening again to the "Queen Mab Scherzo," we should remember that Berlioz offers two versions of Mercutio's evocation of the minuscule queen of the fairies. In addition to the breathless orchestral showpiece we just heard, there's the Scherzetto sung by the tenor (with the semi-chorus) in Part I, which we heard last night performed by (I thought) an interesting assortment of conductors and especially tenors.

I mentioned last night that I had a clear order of preference among our three tenors. It's a pleasure to hear both competent singing and idiomatic French from Jean Dupouy (Ozawa-DG), a distinct advantage over Michigan's Kenneth Tarver (Boulez-DG). Still, Cesare Valletti (Munch-RCA) sings if anything more beautiful French, and also brings some zestfully Mercutio-like flair to Shakespeare's and Berlioz' bravura flight of fantasy.

In honor of this fondly remembered light lyric tenor of the '50s and '60s, I've thrown together a little tribute, drawing just on what I happen to have on CD -- and not including a recording I literally just got, a 1953 Milan Radio performance of Tchaikovsky's Yevgeny Onegin, in Italian, with Rosanna Carteri as Tatiana, Valletti as Lenski, and Giuseppe Taddei in the title role. I haven't heard it yet, and could have sworn I brought it home for the weekend (I'm really curious), even having no idea I might be writing about Valletti. Alas, it doesn't seem to be here, and I assume Monday I'll find it sitting on the desk in my office. (However, we will be hearing Carteri and Valletti together in La Traviata, from their 1956 RCA recording with Leonard Warren as Alfredo's father and Pierre Monteux conducting.)

Let's start with a Valletti signature role, the dashing young Count Almaviva in Rossini's Barber of Seville. We've talked recently about the heart-rending deterioration of the relationship between these young lovers by the time they're the maturely married Count and Countess of The Marriage of Figaro (both Beaumarchais's play and Mozart's opera). This makes Rossini's depiction of their youthful courtship if anything more powerful. We hear the Count --

* first, serenading the beautiful young woman who's captured his heart at dawn beneath her window in the home of her guardian, Dr. Bartolo, accompanied by a band of street musicians he's hired, and then, getting no response from inside the house, trying to quiet the musicians he has paid perhaps too generously;

* then, fortuitously joined by his old friend, the barber and general factotum Figaro, he sings again, introducing himself as the poor student Lindoro, this time getting an excellent response, until his beloved is yanked away from the window; now Figaro, stimulated by the Count's offer of gold, "at the idea of that metal" shifts into high conspiratorial gear.

ROSSINI: Il Barbiere di Siviglia: Act I, "Ecco ridente
in cielo
" . . . "Mille grazie, mio Signore"



Cesare Valletti (t), Count Almaviva; George Cehanovsky (b), Fiorello; Metropolitan Opera Chorus and Orchestra, Alberto Erede, cond. Recorded live, March 6, 1954

Il Barbiere di Siviglia: Act I, "Se il mio nome saper voi
bramate
" . . . "All'idea di quel metallo" (Scene 1 finale)



Cesare Valletti (t), Count Almaviva; Roberta Peters (s), Rosina; Robert Merrill (b), Figaro; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Alberto Erede, cond. Recorded live, March 6, 1954

[Note: This is not the 1958 Met-RCA commercial recording conducted by Erich Leinsdorf, with almost identical principals -- Giorgio Tozzi, who by then was indeed singing Basilio at the Met, sang in the recording rather than Cesare Siepi. With certain stylistic reservations, I happen to be quite fond of the RCA recording, but these excerpts are from something you're less likely to have heard: the broadcast from the 1953-54 season, in which Cyril Ritchard's Barbiere production was introduced.]

Next we hear Valletti in a role that's something of a stretch for so light a voice (designed by nature to operate, operatically speaking, in the Mozart-Rossini-Donizetti repertory): Alfredo in Verdi's La Traviata.

* In the opening scene, a party at the home of Violetta, young Alfredo Germont is introduced by the gregarious viscount Gastone (at 1:29 of the track 1). Later (at 2:57) Gastone informs their hostess of Alfredo's heretofore silent devotion to her. Then, invited to offer the crowd a drinking song, he first declines (at 4:36), then asks Violetta if it would please her (at 4:48), and (track 2) launches into a brindisi, or drinking song (this is not only the world's best-known brindisi but one of the world's most loved tunes), to which Violetta joins in with a stanza of her own.

* Alfredo, left alone with Violetta, tells her of his love for her (his "Un dì felice" seems to me quite special), and after an interruption from Gastone (track 2), gets her to agree to see him the next day ("Ebben, domani").

VERDI: La Traviata: Act I, Opening scene . . . "Libiamo"


Rosanna Carteri (s), Violetta Valéry; Glauco Scarlini (t), Gastone; Leonardo Monreale (bs), Marquis d'Obigny; Cesare Valletti (t), Alfredo Germont; Lidia Marimpietri (s), Flora Bervoix; Arturo La Porta (b) Baron Douphol; Rome Opera Chorus and Orchestra, Pierre Monteux, cond. RCA/BMG/Myto, recorded 1956

La Traviata: Act I, Alfredo: "Un dì felice" . . . Gastone: "Ebben, che diavol fate?" . . . Violetta: "Ebben, domani"


Cesare Valletti (t), Alfredo Germont; Rosanna Carteri (s), Violetta Valéry; Glauco Scarlini (t), Gastone; Rome Opera Orchestra, Pierre Monteux, cond. RCA/BMG/Myto, recorded 1956

Finally we hear a real stretch: Pinkerton in Puccini's Madama Butterfly. RCA's George Marek had decided that the opera had become overburdened by vocally-too-heavy casting, and thought he would "reveal" it by casting much lighter, with Anna Moffo as Buttefly and Valletti as Pinkerton. Of course the heavier casting is dictated by the vocal writing, but the recording isn't without interest.

After the wonderfully vigorous orchestral prelude (track 1), which we heard back when we were heard the remarkable openings of all the mature Puccini operas, we meet Pinkerton, an American naval lieutenant stationed in Japan in the early 1900s, being shown (track 2), by the marriage broker Goro, the sliding-wall house on a hilltop overlooking Nagasaki which he will occupy after his imminent marriage to the radiant 15-year-old Cio-Cio-San. Goro also introduces Pinkerton to his bride-to-be's three servants, including her devoted maid and companion Suzuki. The American consul Sharpless, having huffed his way up the hill and joins Pinkerton in a drink and a tribute (track 3, "Dovunque al mondo") to what Pinkerton considers the idyllic lifestyle of "the Yankee vagabond," who "drops anchor at will," until a storm tells him it's time to move on. In response to a question from Sharpless, Pinkerton says (track 4, "Amore o grillo") that he doesn't know whether his infatuation with Cio-Cio-San is "love or fancy," and also makes clear that the doesn't care.

PUCCINI: Madama Butterfly: Act I, Prelude . . . Opening scene . . . "Dovunque al mondo" . . . "Amore o grillo"


Cesare Valletti (t), Lt. B. F. Pinkerton; Mario Carlin (t), Goro; Rosalind Elias (ms), Suzuki; Renato Cesari (b), Sharpless; Rome Opera Orchestra, Erich Leinsdorf, cond. RCA/BMG, recorded July 1957


IN TOMORROW'S SUNDAY CLASSICS POST --

We finish up (finally!), I think, with Parts II and III of Berlioz' Roméo et Juliette.


SUNDAY CLASSICS POSTS

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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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