Thanks for the memories...

I have to say that our semester’s work, culminating in this week’s illuminating discussions, have made me reevaluate the way I view opera. Honestly, this class has made me realize that when it comes to this art form, I am more conservative than I like to think. I like things in moderation, and I tend to take the art form too seriously. (How ironic then, that the very opera I chose to study makes a point of making fun of the traditional opera audience for that very thing.)I aim to change that in the future.

Reflecting on this week, I started to think about opera’s function in our modern society and the brilliant ideas that circulated in class this week about the fact that the term "opera" implies grandeur and a license to be ridiculously over-the-top and dramatic. Take for example, soap opera. The title of the genre encompasses all things dramatic and the similarities (at least on the plot level) are endless. Love triangles? Check. Illegitimate children? Check. Murder? Betrayal? Passion? Check. Check. Check. I mean, seriously, the transition from soap opera to opera would be easy. Someone write one now! How interesting would it be if there was a soap opera that emphasized the “opera” part of the genre and had all of the characters burst out into song when things got highly emotional (which, let’s face it, is just about every scene)? What if it was a soap opera about life in an opera house? I would so watch that.

Another point that interested me this week was the fact that operatic excerpts used in film, more often than not, highlight some sort of mental imbalance in the character. Perhaps that is because of all of the wacky characters in opera – that we are supposed to see some type of sympathy between the characters in film and those in opera? Or perhaps that type of emotionality is simply associated with people who are not quite sane.

~

This course has left me with so many questions. For example, I wonder how opera has devolved from the prime entertainment of its day into something that is so elitist and disassociated from society. Among other things, I also wonder if we will see this change in our lifetimes…


Well, it’s officially time to close this chapter of my love affair with American Opera.

So, for now, that’s all folks!

American Opera Since 1950, a sequel?

This idea came to me in class on Friday...one of the themes of our course would make a fabulous seminar all by itself. I think someone really needs to teach a special topics class on the intersection of opera and film. It seems like the topic has come up in just about every piece we have talked about this semester.

My ideas aren’t fully formed yet, but here are some things I would like to see explored in such a hypothetical course:

The influence of film on opera

For one, the use of projections or graphic images in the production of opera has changed the way companies think of set design and visual aesthetics and brought a new dimension to the visual aspects of opera. In terms of this, I am thinking of the Robert LePage production of Le Damnation de Faust and his use of interactive projections that reacted to the performers. Secondly, there were many times during the class when we pointed out that the score sounded like a film score (such as in The Aspern Papers), so those aesthetics would be interesting to explore. Which leads me to a second topic:

The use of opera in film

I think this could encompass the way film scores function, as well as how opera functions in terms of mood, character, or time period. In addition, there are many operatic scenes one could look at in film (I'm sorry, but I can’t help but think of Pretty Woman). How do they function? How do they reflect society’s idea of opera? Is that perception different in different countries (for example, how is opera used in French film)?

Opera on film

Considering the increasing number of operas on film, as well as the Metropolitan Opera’s “Live in HD” program, I think this is important to talk about. Much of the discussion we had this semester touched on the different effects which viewing opera on film and viewing live opera had on the viewer. I would include a discussion of filmed live opera vs. operas that have been made into films. I think it would be particularly interesting to explore the criticism as well as the public’s reaction to the “Live in HD” program and its effects (if any are measurable) on the world of opera. I think this should also encompass a discussion of operatic films (such as The Umbrellas of Cherbourg) and opera based on film (such as Dead Man Walking). Which would be a nice transition to…

Modern opera/rock opera, and its intersection with film

I think our discussion this week really forced a lot of us to think outside the box, which is extremely valuable. I would like to see those ideas explored more fully. I think they may be integral to the future of opera.

First impressions

I know we haven’t gotten to “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead” yet, but I went to see a concert of excerpts from it this weekend and I just had to share my first impressions of the work.

I must say that the first time I looked at the Youtube clip of the questions game in operatic form, I had just watched the film and was a little bit put-off by the Broadway-esque translation of the text into vocal music. I felt that it didn’t honor the wit and darkness of the script. However, hearing it for the second time, with six other scenes to frame it, I felt that it was very effective and, at the very least, entertaining.

In general, the music for “Rosencrantz” is extremely accessible, tonal, and neo-romantic sounding, with lush harmonies and supple melodies. Herschel Garfein, both composer and librettist, does a fairly nice job of maintaining a certain speech-like pacing that doesn’t undermine the original dialogue.

At the after concert discussion, the composer said that it was Mark Morris, who directed the staged reading in New York, that suggested to him that both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern should be baritones. This cleverly plays into one of the running jokes in the play, which is that everyone, including themselves, cannot figure out which one is Rosencrantz and which one is Guildenstern.

In general, the favorite scenes (according to one of the singers, and a critic) were the arias which Garfein wrote for the character of Alfred, a pants role, sung exquisitely by mezzo Krista River. Garfein took the opportunity to use the character of Alfred to liberate some of Guildenstern’s more philosophical monologues, and the effect is really touching. His/her arias “The Unicorn Song” and “The Butterfly Song” were the highlights of the work for me as well.

Overall, I found the excerpts to be really charming and promising. I look forward to seeing the entire work staged some time in the near future.

Late night thoughts

Forgive me if this rambles a bit.

I was a little bit surprised at the reaction I had this week to "American Idiot." Honestly, I hadn't really thought of myself as much of an "opera elitist" until then. I have a long background in musical theater and a strong love for contemporary works, which often require some flexibility when it comes to one's expectations. I tend to have an open mind when it comes to music. Somehow, though, our discussion on Thursday really hit a nerve.

I recognize, as my classmates have, that rock opera is not classical opera. It is operatic only in the sense that the entire work is composed of music, rather than interspersed with dialogue. But it makes me wonder whether someone seeing a rock opera would be at all inspired to see a traditional opera. It seems unlikely. Might kids a century from now think of this as opera? I think part of my reaction was tied up in the placement of this work at the end of the line of ‘traditional’ operas we have been looking at. Even after looking at many different ideas within the American Opera idiom, “American Idiot” seems a far cry from all of them.

What I will say is this; my negative reaction is absolutely driven by ego and fear. Fear of what might happen if all of the energy and money I have spent on degrees in classical voice is going to waste. Fear of not being able to find a job after graduate school. Fear of not being able to make a living. etc. etc. etc. It feels a little like defending my territory.

Perhaps I do need to think more flexibly about this work and the rock opera tradition in general, but if someday in the future the progression of operatic tradition ends with rock opera, you can bet that I will be the old lady sitting at home listening to her CDs of La Traviata and weeping for the good old days.

[Note: Speaking of pop/ rock and opera…did you know that Rufus Wainwright had composed on opera, Prima Donna, that was commissioned by the Metropolitan Opera, but they canceled it because he wrote it in French? Take a look at this video. On a related note, this video just goes to show that the way it is sung and orchestrated is a huge part of determining the style of a work.]

Thinking on Paper

Basically, all of my ideas just need to go on paper at this point, so I will use this blog to try and organize my thoughts.

Before Maestro Levine asked him to compose an opera, John Corigliano was primarily an instrumental (albeit programmatic) composer. He was not entirely for the idea of writing an opera, citing come issues with operatic conventions (and boy does this come through in the work..). However, when the Metropolitan opera asks, you don’t say no. The work was commissioned for the Met centennial in 1979 and the premiere was set for 1983 (it didn’t actually premiere until 1991, however). It was the first work by an American composer to be commissioned after the spectacle that was Barber’s “Anthony and Cleopatra,” and critics have certainly made a few superficial comparisons between the two.

The work is based on the premise that the ghosts of the court of Versailles at the time of the French Revolution now haunt the palace. These include the ghost of Marie Antoinette, the playwright Beaumarchais (who is in love with Marie Antoinette), and her husband King Louis XVI as well as various other courtiers. Beaumarchais creates a work based on the third play in his Figaro trilogy, “La Mère Coupable” to entertain the court, only, he intends to change history with it and make it so that Marie Antoinette did not die by guillotine, but instead escaped to the new world with him.

There are two major ideas that pervade the work. The first is that the opera plays with the idea of time. The composer says it is set in three planes that occur simultaneously: a type of limbo where the ghosts reside in Versailles, the world of Beaumarchais’ opera, and the world of history, specifically the period of the French revolution. The characters of the ghost world are framed by the historical where they lived and died and they also interact with the characters in the opera, even blurring the lines between performer and audience. On a more mechanical level, Corigliano’s composition style is one that often blurs the meter or creates a sense of ‘timelessness’ in the music.

The second theme is one of subversion. Throughout the opera, Corigliano and his librettist, William M. Hoffman, subvert the expectations of the audience, making fun of operatic traditions, and specifically beliefs/roles held by operatic audiences. For example, Corigliano labels the work “A Grand Buffo Opera”, mixing traditional labels and traditions. This subversion is heightened by Corigliano’s use of older compositional styles and borrowed phrases from the Figaro operas of Mozart and Rossini. There are many points in the opera where the audience is made to laugh at itself. The opera seems to say, ‘Please, don’t take yourselves so seriously!’ To me, the work is hilarious. To many critics, it was utterly bombastic.

I think this work has real merit in the operatic repertoire. It is challenging for all of the singers, but the music is primarily accessible to an audience who doesn’t know opera (although, all of the inside jokes are intended for an opera-loving audience). Moreover, it is funny in a modern way! The difficulty in putting the work up, however, is its grand nature and the extensive effects that it requires. It was created for the Metropolitan Opera. It’s hard for most theaters to match their resources. Thankfully, there have been other productions of this opera and in answer to this question, Corigliano has created a reduced version of his work.

Thinking outside of the box

Reading other people’s blogs on their paper progress has been fascinating for me. What I love about this class is the amount of diversity of opinion and interest within the group. These presentations are going to be awesome!

In my search for sources, I was delighted to find a video of the original Metropolitan Opera production of “The Ghosts of Versailles”. It gave me quite a bit of insight into the work, as well as an appreciation for its conception (It was written expressly to be premiered by the Metropolitan Opera). Reading the libretto and watching the video, I started to notice that while many aspects of the work seem explicitly theatrical (in many ways, the work is a satire of the institution that is opera), many other aspects of the work seem very film-oriented. I was inspired by all of our discussions about the confluence of film and opera in recent times and decided to focus my creative project on turning the work into an opera for film. I believe that the fantastical elements of the work, while a pain-and-a-half for a theater to try and convey, are almost commonplace effects in film and I feel that they would be extremely effective in a film setting. For example, in the second act, the Beaumarchais character of the ghost-world steps into the opera he has created and becomes human in the process. In the theater that takes a large leap of faith on the part of the audience; however, how many films has one seen where something like that happens? Being a product of this time period and (before this work) not primarily an opera composer, I think John Corigliano shows a large affinity for filmic effects. This is all to say that for my creative project, I am working on doing some preliminary story-boarding of the two arias which I have analyzed for my paper. I think the trick in doing so will be to figure out how to preserve the theatrical nature of the work so that the satire can shine through.

[Side note: In my search for a score of John Corigliano’s “The Ghosts of Versailles”, I found that the one and only copy I could get access to is located at the performing arts branch of the New York Public Library at Lincoln Center. It is a part of their research collections, meaning that I had to check my bag and coat and enter a sealed viewing room (they are really careful about this resources). I put in my request and a librarian went into the hidden depths of the library and emerged with a box about 2 feet wide and 3 feet long that contained an unbound orchestral score of the opera. So cool. I can’t get over it.]

An American Greek Tragedy

What interested me greatly about our class discussion on Friday was the consensus that this opera did not need to be updated to make it feel more relevant. Even, that updating it would change the very essence of the work, rather than enhance it. I find that one can’t necessarily apply that label to all of the operas we have studied this semester. The Death of Klinghoffer, while striving to have a broad message, is limited by its controversial subject matter and treatment of said subject matter. Willie Stark seems limited by its unfulfilled realization of the necessary unification between drama and music. The Aspern Papers, while lyrically satisfying, hasn’t stuck in the repertory either somehow. There is something that I found to be so satisfying about the way in which Bolcom melded popular idioms with operatic vocal writing. This piece seems to me to have the perfect balance of drama and music. Now, granted, I grew up listening to jazz, so the jazz influence in classical music (read: Bolcom’s idiomatic use of popular music) is what I particularly love about this period of American Music.

It struck me that this piece has a certain timelessness to it, even though it is so firmly set in its own time period. I think that one of the main reasons for this is the fact that Bolcom (and Arthur Miller) conceived the work as a modern Greek drama, complete with tragic hero. There are many elements of this story that are familiar to us as an audience. They allow us to be comfortable with the characters and the story; we’ve seen them before. In the opera, the chorus’ opening scene and the existence of the chorus leader, Alfieri, as well as the prescient chorus itself, serve to frame the Greek tragic elements of the work. They heighten the claustrophobia in the work, acting as the community of Red Hook as well as the Italian community that the characters had left. Like many a Greek tragedy, the audience knows from the opening lines (or orchestral tones in this case) that the piece cannot end happily. Indeed, the orchestra tells us the ending. There is no mistaking it. The oppression of fate throughout the work (we are told repeatedly that Eddie had no choice, he was doomed to fulfill his tragic destiny) is particularly referential, as is the framing of Eddie as the tragic hero (basically a good guy with a large flaw that he cannot see). In the program/liner notes both Bolcom and Miller commented on the essential passion of the characters in the work, citing that such open passion is both essentially in the tradition of the Greek tragedy and essentially operatic. It is no wonder that the piece leant itself to being set to music.

Trends in American Opera

After listening to A View from the Bridge this week, it began to occur to me that one could divine a few trends in the operas that we have been studying this semester. It seems to me that one could begin to identify three separate branches of the ‘American opera style’, if one can really say that there is any unified sense of style in American opera at all.

The first group is minimalism. I’m going to set that aside for a bit because it is clearly its own category apart from the majority of the other works we classify as ‘American Opera’.

For the time being (because I can’t find more concise labels at the moment), I will call the other two categories “rural-themed” works and “urban-themed” works. Perhaps these are extremely naïve labels. What I mean is that on one hand we have operatic works by composers such as Copland and Floyd that are influenced by and encompass the music of the South and the Mid-West, of wide-open prairies and folk music. On the other hand, we get works like A View from the Bridge which are categorized by a certain edgy, gritty, claustrophobic feeling and a clear Jazz influence. I would argue that “rural-themed” works stem from the symphonic folk-influenced tradition of Copland, tending towards more lyric expression and that “urban-themed” works tend towards what we hinted at as being closer to a new verismo style (possibly more influenced by musical theater traditions). In any case, both of those categories aim to integrate popular, idiomatic music and sound into the operatic genre.

Despite those differences, over the semester we have seen many similarities between the operas we have studied. All of the operas have put a premium on finding that balance between the drama and the music that would make the work accessible. In the case of A View from the Bridge and Willie Stark, I would argue that the balance tipped toward the text, whereas in The Aspern Papers and Satyagraha the balance tipped toward the music. We have noticed the influence of film that has pervaded operas in terms of production design, acting/text setting style, marketing, and choice of medium (i.e. operas that were turned into films). Film influence is also clear in the apparent move of opera toward realism, wherein the characters seem closer to our own lives than elaborate fantasy or mythic characters (where have all the heroes gone?) and where happy endings seldom exist.

[Note: This idea of the division between ‘rural-themed’ and ‘urban-themed’ was sort of spurred by the observation that A View from the Bridge seemed to me to be a sort of citified version of Copland’s The Tenderland. Secondly, I have no idea where Aspern Papers falls in terms this rough division]

Impressions of John Adams

I think John Adams is way ahead of his time in terms of challenging the listener/viewer of his works. As Lexi also suggested, I think he desires to create discussion, to spark a reaction, and to make people think about things differently. He asks his audience to come to the table with prior knowledge but an open mind. His works elicit a reaction, which is what I feel opera should do.

In watching 'The Death of Klinghoffer', I found that the music was what really moved me in the production I viewed, and that the images often distracted me. I felt, in some ways, that they took away from the raw power of the music. There is an enormous amount of emotion in that music.

In fact, I was planning on writing a blog about how one branch of new opera seems to stem from Wagner’s "gesamtkunstwerk" ideal in its necessity for pairing the music with a visual aspect (per our discussion of Satyagraha), but I’m not sure that is completely true after watching this opera. I think that Adams' music alone carries a lot of power (perhaps it is my knowing the background of the work already that created this impression) . I really like what the DVD notes had to say about Adams' brand of minimalism:

“But the Minimalist manner is just one expressive tool in a vast box, used to elongate a moment, to suggest a feeling of the unreal, to evoke a sense of the ominous. Adam’s constant awareness of creating an organism and of the part that colour and idiomatic instrumental writing play, together with his always expressive vocal lines, are non-Minimalist. The final evidence is that the music never simply fills a space, but creates its own sense of time and motion, goes somewhere, does something.”

I think the author really captures what is so effective about Adams' music. His ability to portray such a variety of emotions and situations with what are, for the most part, fairly economical means is part of his brilliance. He seems to combine all of the musical traditions of the present and past in a way that pulls the heart strings and affects the psyche.

A few specific compositional choices in 'Klinghoffer' stood out to me. Upon reading the DVD notes, I initially questioned Adams' choice to cast the youngest of the terrorists, Omar, as a mezzo-soprano. It seemed to me to be a strange and possibly out-dated choice. However, Omar's aria comes directly before Mrs. Klinghoffer's aria in the work, making the audience effectively contrast the two characters (or two sides). Making them both female voices only heightens the comparison. I found that this type of comparison was key to Adams idea of balance within the work. In the opera, one rarely gets one side's opinion without getting the other side's voice soon after it. For example, Klinghoffer's first aria is followed by Rambo's response, each of which contain stereotypical opinions of the other, highlighting the misunderstanding between the two characters. In the same vein, to my ears it seemed that all of the male voices sung in the same tessitura much of the time, creating the aural illusion of equality.

Although I may not have given it the attention it deserved, I found that this opera really affected me and pieces of it have been running around in my brain since. One line, specifically, keeps coming back to me, as it seems to sum up the message of the work. After Mamoud's first aria, the Captain responds, “If you spoke like this sitting among your enemies, there would be peace”. It is a sentiment that is extremely timely. It almost makes me think that someone needs to put this opera on again in a revised version that uses the concessions of the film to create sympathy and brings out the messages of the piece loud and clear. Is there some very brave company out there that would take this on?

Impressions of 'Klinghoffer'

Coming to the film with our class discussions echoing in my head, I found that my reactions to the work were tempered, even analytical. Perhaps it was the fact that, as Shelley suggested, we are so desensitized to violence these days. Perhaps it was the fact that I expected the subject matter to be emotionally gut-wrenching and so I actively distanced myself from what I was seeing. Or perhaps it was simply the responsibility of having to respond the opera in a somewhat academic fashion. Whatever the case, I found that I had trouble coaxing myself to be completely involved in what I was seeing.

Having all of that background information upon viewing the film, it was striking to me how extensively the film version revised the work. In terms of the arguments that were covered in Fink's article, I did find those revisions to be effective. Intertwining the background stories and documentary footage certainly created more balance and sympathy. It made me wonder whether the overall reaction would have been more positive had the stage version used those same insertions or references.

That being said, unlike many of my classmates, in this instance I found the film medium to be distracting. The production seemed to incorporate many concessions of the stage, like the captain talking to the camera. To me, it felt like the two mediums (stage and film) were either not separate enough to make it clear that it was a theater piece that had been transposed to film, or not integrated enough to convince me that it was a film version of an opera. I found the mixing of mediums to be disorienting and felt that many of the moments would have been much more beautiful and effective on stage. Perhaps, however, this was simply me feeling uncomfortable with what I was watching and longing for the safety of a theater environment. After all, in an opera house, there is a certain distance that one is very aware of as an audience member. The film industry has actively tried to erase that self-awareness of the audience by the use of such techniques as close-ups, shots from the character's point of view, and now IMAX and 3D technology.

I feel that our discussions certainly influenced the way I viewed the piece and, per our discussions about marketing on Friday, perhaps educating the audience would be an effective way of presenting this piece. Going back to my earlier comment about the insertions of the documentary scenes, I would really like to see a modern production of this piece that used the additions that the film brought to the table. Like Jen Leigh, I think this piece would be very effective in a smaller theater, where the audience would have the benefit of seeing things up close (one benefit that film affords us). In terms of marketing, what became clear to me through Friday’s discussion was that in putting up this production, a company would have to want to make a statement. One can’t put this up expecting people to digest it the same way they do the standard repertoire. It is a risk, and I think any company would simply have to decide which aspect of the production they would accept criticism for, because, as we said, ‘You’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.’

Art talking about art

One of the things that I found so lovely about Argento's version of The Aspern Papers was the change he made to the character of Aspern himself. By changing Aspern from a writer to a composer, specifically a composer of opera, Argento allowed his work to be somewhat self-reflective. This is evident to me in his exploration of the timelessness in art that is expressed by Aspern in the duet with Juliana. The scenes from 1835 are the ones that Argento invented, so it seems to me that, in a way, Aspern acts as Argento's mouthpiece. That addition adds another layer to the work in terms of the plot, but it also explores the creative process and makes the audience aware of their own part in the story...

As one of my classmates brought up, there is a religiosity to Argento’s (and James’?) treatment of Aspern and his work. Unlike the novella, where the work is this undefined shapeless thing, Argento gives form to the sacred work, both through the use of a prop on stage and the creation of music in the score that represents and is supposedly drawn from Aspern’s work (Juliana is rehearsing it, then it comes back as the work is burned).

In the duet, many things that are said by Aspern and Juliana touch on the theme of art. Juliana’s assertion that, “the joy I can share, but the glory belongs solely to you,” speaks to the process of composition and the power of art has to live beyond its creator. The characters talk about the performance process (“A hundred years from now, upon a lighted stage…”) and the rediscovery of a work (“ A thousand years from now, from off some dusty shelf...”). They explore the permanency of art, as well as its power to freeze moments in time. As Aspern and Juliana say repeatedly, “They will know it celebrates our eternal love.” So, they assert, music has the power to hold love and to transmit that love throughout time. As one of the writers described the last scene, they said that each character appears as the pages of the score are burned, hinting that not only do the pages contain living art, they contain memories as well.

For in truth, I had forgotten what an attractive thing the world is...

I was really drawn to the music of The Aspern Papers. Argento has a very unique, gracious way of writing for the voice and his use of the singers and the orchestra in the selections we listened to was just mesmerizing for me, personally. I wish we could have seen more of the work, but in order to get some idea of Argento's style I listened and watched the two available clips repeatedly. Here is a sort of winding analysis of the two clips, specifically their contrasting qualities and their similarities.

~1835: Juliana and Aspern~

I found it interesting that the first section of this duet uses recitative-like writing with the orchestra simply sustaining chords underneath the singers. Soon after, in what I see as a sly nod to the Belcanto diva, Argento gives Juliana a duet with a woodwind during early phrases of her solo singing ("The way I always feel when a performance is over. The way I always feel at the end of summer.") that highlights the nostalgia in her sentiments. To bring out the idea that the characters aren't really connecting in this moment, Argento highlights Aspern's lines with a woodwind tremolo so that Juliana's duet partner changes mood dramatically as Aspern responds to her.

I find it interesting that the most melodic writing in this scene seems to come in the orchestral interlude when Juliana kisses Aspern. The duet, with each character in canon throughout seems to evoke the contrapuntal writing of an earlier time, as does (for me) the repetition of phrases of text (although this is also emblematic of the fact that both characters seem slightly unsure about their relationship at the time). The lines seem to weave in and out of each other so that one catches brief fragments of each before they become part of the full texture again. There is a certain blurriness to the writing, as if Argento is trying to evoke the way memory works. It seems to me that there is a certain timelessness in the duet in that there is very little sense of downbeat or meter in the music and it often seems to hover in and out of keys, not staying firmly in one or that other. In the canonic writing (can one call it that when the lines are not exactly the same?) the tonicization of one singer's line seems to be undermined constantly by the entrance of the other like. This gives the whole scene this sort of shimmery, unstable energy for my ear.

I find it interesting that the two characters/singers first truly unite when singing those nature-laden phrases which seem to hold such dichotomies ("Snow and cypress...glacier and leaf...the Ice Age and the golden months of summer..."). They are united, but the tonality (or chromaticism) of the opera seems to betray their doomed relationship. [On a side note: That unification of melody made me wonder if perhaps that is a line from Aspern's work Medea, which one can supposedly hear in Argento's score repeatedly...]


~1895: Ms. Tina and the Lodger~

In a similar manner, this part starts with Tina singing a recit-like phrase, for which the orchestra quiets completely before asserting the main melodic idea. Argento's writing seems to be less linear in this aria, and less symmetrical in a way. While the duet seemed Italianate, this style alternates between an almost French coloristic sensibility and a pure American sense of melody. The chromaticism in this aria stands out more as well; it seems somehow more pointed. Interestingly, for my taste, there is there is more of a sense of melody present in this piece of the opera (I wonder if that is a general difference between Argento's painting of the two time periods). To me, there is a different sense of solidity to Ms. Tina's aria. I love that she seems to be drawn back to the same notes over and over again. Argento really captures the sweetness of that moment in time and her joy and love for the world.


~Commonalities~
To me, Argento's music sounds like an old black-and-white film score in many ways; the way he uses the strings, brass and woodwinds imagistically seems to evoke another time. I find his use of brass to highlight the most euphoric, climactic phrases or emotions really intriguing. In the duet ("Nothing abides unaltered...love will endure") it seems to undermine the joy expressed by the singers, yet in the aria it comes at a point where it seems to wrench the audience from the calm picture Argento had set up ("the bright shop windows"..."as if all the world was out-of-doors"). Lastly, I think one of the things that makes Argento's writing feel Italianate is the fact that his use of chromaticism doesn't scream at us. In the duet it seems almost functional and in the aria it is used for inflective purposes.

In conclusion, the more I listened to these two clips, the more I found to listen to. I would really love to hear/see this work in its entirety.

Musings, part 2

While writing my last post, I found myself continually referring to "Willie Stark" as a play or a work, rather than an opera. While I maintain that there is some beautiful, affecting music in the piece, somehow, the story is what most engaged me about the work (see...there it is again).

I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one level, that sort of troubles me because part of me argues that “opera is all about the music”, while the other part says, “no, opera is about the storytelling.” In that sense, I think Floyd did succeed. I found the story to be engaging and entertaining and I find that the characters of this opera have stayed with me for the past few days (and not just because I was debating what to write about it).

The music may not have been the most appealing or memorable, but I've found while reading my classmates posts that there are definitely certain phrases that have stuck with me (more than I thought, even). If you think about it though, there aren't all that many operas for which you could say differently (especially in this time period). I mean, mostly what we are left with after seeing a work for the first time are just fragments that keep circulating in our heads. Perhaps with multiple viewings, more of Floyd's score would begin to stand out for us. Then again, perhaps not. It did seem to me that the drama was the driving force in this piece.

~

On another note, Sadie’s line, “Shake ‘em up…Even if you make ‘em mad, they’ll love you,” seemed to me to encapsulate a major theme of our previous class discussions. All of the operas we have covered thus far have had definite statements to make, whether it be political (Candide, Satyagraha) or aesthetic (Willie Stark, I would argue). It seems to me that in this day and age, the goal in writing an opera is no longer to make the most beautiful music ever written, but to make a work that transports, that entertains, that affects, and that is maybe just a little bit controversial. Even if we, as a class, didn’t really like this opera, it certainly generated a large amount of discussion. Perhaps, in the end, that was the point.

Musings on "Wille Stark"

In Olivia’s post, Staging ‘Stark’, she said: “Political stories, especially Presidential themes, always gather attention. So why not capitalize on that?”

That got me thinking. What is it about political figures that make them larger than life? Is the position of power? Is it the particular brand of charm that seems to be part of the job description? Suddenly it occurred to me: they are public figures! Meaning, unlike most men, they are responsible to the public and because of that, they are very visible in society. Oh yeah, and that position of power has a tendency to get them into trouble (I’m being very general here). How do we find these things out? Well, for starters, the media has an obsession with trouble…

That got me thinking about all of the possible ways one could stage Carlisle Floyd’s opera “Willie Stark” in order to strengthen the work. What I didn’t like about LSU’s production (granted, I’m sure their budget was not huge) was the fact that the set and costumes didn’t help my understanding of the work as a whole. I think the aesthetics of a production should highlight some theme of the work, or heighten the drama, or simply transport the audience into the story more completely. In that vein, I would like to see a production of “Willie Stark” that really hyped up the media aspect of the political life. The media informs so much of what we, the public, see of politicians. Being public figures, the line between their private and public lives seems to get blurred. I think bringing that dichotomy to light would tighten up the action 'Willie Stark'. For example, how much more touching and honest would Stark’s speech about homesickness seem if it was contrasted with the glitz and show of his public life in office?

Floyd already insinuates the media into the work with his inclusion of the ‘radio broadcasts’ strewn throughout the opera, but I think following his lead and capitalizing on that theme would allow the audience to connect to the heightened nature of the story. Especially since, as Christina pointed out, we are set down right in the middle of the protagonist’s rise and fall, as it were.

What if the production used newspaper in a way that was similar to the Metropolitan Opera’s version of Satyagraha, so that it was integral to the design? What if the floor of the stage was made up of newspaper clippings and media (newspaper, radio, TV and film) functioned prominently in the staging? What if the voyeuristic aspect of the work was heightened by haveing members of the chorus always present around the stage in some way, watching the proceedings, either as townspeople or press workers? What if one incorporated projections at the political rally scenes?

Many of my classmates brought up the difference between the effects of watching an opera on stage versus watching it on film. I too find it interesting that the reviewer who watched the filmed version praised the piece that the other saw in the theater and disparaged. I think the story is worthwhile, it just needs some help in the form of a production that focuses the audience’s attention more tightly (the way a camera does). On that note, I really like what Shelley pointed out about the disappearing doors in her post, Cliché that Ish Up! It made me wonder if one could heighten the tension in the work by making the audience’s focus effectively get narrower and narrower as the work went on (either through literally making the space in which scenes occur smaller or by the use of lighting or other effects) so that, by the end, one has no choice but to be involved in what is happening to Willie Stark.

Met Satyagraha Interview Clip

Someone may have posted this already, but for those of you who might be interested in the version of Satyagraha done by the Metropolitan Opera in 2008, here is a nice interview about it:



I thought it was really beautifully (and subtly) done, for the most part.

Glass and Film

There was some mention in class this week about Phillip Glass' work on film music, which reminded me that the score to one of my favorite films, The Illusionist, was written by him. In this movie, I feel that his music functions in much the same way that Leitmotifs function in a Wagner opera. That is, they help the audience track a certain character or idea through the work. Coincidentally, I find the film to be fairly operatic in some of its conventions. For example, the opening credits are set to what could easily be a prologue or an overture for an opera, setting up the mood (and troubled undercurrents) as well as the time period (19th-century Vienna: this is accomplished by operatic or symphonic-sounding passages interwoven into the music - like the beginning of this clip). Throughout the film, the music is used to highlight emotional or (literally) magical moments (For example, 1:10 in this clip). In this way, it ties the film together, binding the past and the present, hinting at what might have been or what might be, and reminding us of scenes we have already seen. The film is a mystery tale at heart and Glass' music is particularly good at maintaining the forward motion and tension inherent in the plot through the use of his repeated patterns.

However, the difference between the use of music in The Illusionist and Glass' stage works, is that in the film his soundtrack in interrupted by moments of silence and dialogue that give the listener a break from the constant stream of music one finds in a piece like Satyagraha. Additionally, perhaps it is the plot, character development and imagery that allow us to stay engaged in the film more easily. After all, film music is designed to affect the listener, but perhaps on more of a subconscious level than a conscious one (we don't necessarily listen actively to a film score - well, some people might...). Is that one possible reason why Glass' music works so well for film? But then, is it simply the lack of plot, as we know it, in Satyagraha that causes the listener to "zone out", or is there a quality that is inherent to his music that simply affects the audience on another level altogether?

My Glass is Half Full...

In, general I really love Phillip Glass' compositions and find them to be beautiful and emotionally affecting, even if they are not always affecting in a totally positive, calming way. In fact, watching the clip of Koyaanisqatsi was very interesting for me because I found that the music coupled with the images presented really disturbed me and made me extremely anxious. I think I agree with Rachel that in this case, his music seemed to amplify the mood I was already in. (On that note, I am finding it hard to concentrate on writing this while listening to Satyagraha again because I up more involved in the music than my own thought process....).

I think I am drawn to the music of Phillip Glass because of the way he creates such expansive works using such economic means. I am fascinated by the subtle changes in repeating patterns. His music often reminds me of watching a kaleidoscope (or something like this video) and I find it both trance-inducing and intellectually stimulating (I remember feeling extremely Zen - calm but focused - after seeing Satyagraha for the first time). There is something about the extended tension in his writing that really pulls my heart strings.

However, many classmates commented on the fact that they had trouble concentrating while watching the work and found their attention wandering away at various points. Perhaps we, as a culture or generation, simply don't possess the patience or attention span needed to fully appreciate this work?

Another thing that fascinates me about Glass' music is the way it lends itself to visual representation. As I talked about in my last post, I feel that his music is exceedingly effective in film. One point that became exceedingly clear through our discussions of staging the work, was the necessity most of us felt for a deeper connection between the visual material and the music in Satyagraha. It is as if, with a Glass work for the theater, the music and the staging must be so complimentary as to be interdependent - that one could not exist without the other - or each will detract from the other (this strikes me as a concept that is common to dance more than theater). I don't know that this could be said about many operas. I think that is another way in which Glass' pushes the metaphorical envelope.

Just Perhaps...(a consideration, a rant, and a response)

A Consideration
As I was considering what I might do to stage Barber's Anthony and Cleopatra, I remembered that New York City Opera put up a version of the work last year, while they were temporarily exiled from their home in Lincoln Center. The company presented the work in concert form, allowing the music to take center stage. Judging from the two reviews I read (here and here), the response to the performance was mixed, but both authors agreed that what was successful about the effort was that the spotlight was focused on Barber's composition and the work was stripped of the competing stage gimmickry that has gone along with it in the past. Perhaps that was just what the piece needed to redeem it. After all, Barber's experimentation with exoticism in the orchestra conjures up almost all of the imagery that an audience needs to appreciate the setting of the opera (I do appreciate the fact, however, that John Yohalem acknowledged in his review that listening to this work takes some concentration).

A Rant
It's just that, in my opinion, an audience's imagination is bound to be much more powerful than anything an opera company can cover the stage with. Why not merely suggest the grandeur of Eygpt and Rome? Why use "six barges, twelve horses, four elephants, and 120 Romans,"* when you could use something simpler and more elegant? Why not let the audience do some of the work and involve them mentally? While I appreciate the sheer grandeur and beauty of many of Zeffirelli's productions on a purely skin-deep level, I think that an opera for which the production values are the main attraction misses the point somehow. Shouldn't opera effect audiences through the drama of the music as well, not just assault them visually? Perhaps that is just my minimalist taste. After all, there is a long tradition of grand opera.... I just think it's somewhat frivolous. On the other hand, if that type of grandeur is a draw for audiences, who am I to say that it is frivolous (I am thinking here of the popularity of Zeffirelli's productions at the Metropolitan Opera, especially his La Bohème)?

A Response
In response to Erin's post The Met Opening - Why Barber?: I think she brings up many good points. I agree that the opening of the new Met should have been an epic event in which the company could show off what it could do. Barring that, when I think "American sound", I hear the compositions of Copland, Gershwin, Bernstein, and even the Barber of "Sure on this Shining Night" or "Knoxville, Summer of 1915". The music that contains that "American" idea is one that has a certain intimacy to it, despite its wide-open-plains feeling. That aesthetic would be easily overshadowed by excessive production values; therefore, in my mind that typically "American" sound and aesthetic simply doesn't seem to mesh with the bombastic staging and sets such as those that Zeffirelli provided for Anthony and Cleopatra. Think of the American opera you know a little about now...Aside from The Ghosts of Versailles (which is based on previously written operatic story lines, and which was criticized for being overly excessive in the same way that Anthony and Cleopatra was), I can't think of any American operas which have the scope or subject matter to support such an ornamental production. Granted, I acknowledge that my knowledge on the subject is still limited. Perhaps this is an idea that will evolve as we continue the class...

*Heyman, “A New Opera House,” Samuel Barber: The Composer and his Music, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 446.

A Whale of a Tale

For the opening of the 1966-1967 season, Rudolf Bing and The Metropolitan Opera commissioned Samuel Barber to write a new piece to celebrate the first season of the opera company in the new house (the house at Lincoln Center we know and love). During his search for a subject, Barber briefly considered but rejected the classic novel Moby-Dick by Herman Melville, saying supposedly that, "an opera that had a lot of whales and water, but no soprano, had a doubtful future."*

Apparently, composer Jake Heggie disagrees.

In May of this year, Heggie's new opera, "Moby-Dick", will premiere at the Dallas opera, starring Ben Heppner as Captain Ahab. Not unlike Anthony and Cleopatra, this production will be the first premiere of a new work to be produced in the Dallas Opera's new location, the Margot and Bill Winspear Opera House at the Dallas Center for the Performing Arts. A lot of energy and faith is being put into this production, and Dallas Opera has teamed up with San Francisco Opera, San Diego Opera, Calgary Opera, and the State Opera of South Australia to co-produce the work. The librettist is Gene Scheer, with whom Jake Heggie has worked on his past few theatrical compositions, including Three Decembers and To Hell and Back, and the production team will also feature Leonard Foglia (director) and Patrick Summers (conductor), both of whom worked with Heggie on his recent compositions: Three Decembers, The End of the Affair, and Dead Man Walking.

So how has Heggie dealt with the problems Barber foresaw in setting the work?

Well, for one, like Anthony and Cleopatra, Scheer and Heggie will try to honor the intentions of the author and the poetry of Melville's language as much as possible** , without being chained to it. Most notably, they have culled some of Ahab's speeches directly from the book. Additionally, Heggie and Scheer have chosen to switch the original beginning and ending of the book, in order to make a more effective story line for the new work, so that the opera now ends with the famous line, "Call me Ishmael". Secondly, there will be a soprano in the work, although she will be playing a pants role (Talise Trevigna will bring the role of the young boy Pip to life). As far as the whales and water are concerned, Heggie has said that they are the problems of the director and designer** but that he feels that the technical capabilities of the new space will allow for an effective staging of the work. One can only hope that this remarkable project will run more smoothly than the premiere of Anthony and Cleopatra.


For more information on the premiere:

• See the short interview with Jake Heggie about the new work and several interview sound clips here: **Audio Files: A Conversation with Moby-Dick Composer Jake Heggie
• or see the Dallas Opera site here

*Heyman, “A New Opera House,” Samuel Barber: The Composer and his Music, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 430.

Operas with Makeovers

There was a lot of discussion in class this week about modernizing operatic works and, since it is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, I thought I would add my two cents.

A few people mentioned in class that they fell in love with opera because they saw very traditional, beautiful versions of an opera. For me, it was the opposite. For me, it wasn't until I saw the 2005 Salzburg Festspiel version of La Traviata that I became hooked on opera, specifically the possibilities inherent in updating opera. For anyone who doesn't know the production, it is a modernized version starring Anna Netrebko and Rolando Villazon as the starstruck couple, and it was successful in using a wide open, minimalist set, a giant clock, and the use of specific color choices to highlight the main themes of the work (For a taste, try this clip...). Granted, I would argue that unlike many of the other Salzburg Festival productions, this adaptation was very tasteful in the way that it updated the work. Clearly, there is a line that can be crossed between an effective modernization and an adaptation of a work that hinges on the simple shock value.

I'm sure we can all think of productions that fall into the latter category. For me, a good example would be the production that the Salzburg Festival did in 2007 of Zaide/Adama (What can I say? That festival is known for pushing the envelope a bit...) which combined Mozart's unfinished opera Zaide, about the love of a harem slave girl for a Christian exile (it was a sketch for what would eventually become The Abduction from the Seraglio), with a new work by Israeli composer Chaya Czernowin about the impossible love between an Israeli woman and a Palestinian man. Personally, I think the concept was brilliant: bring modern political ideas to Mozart's work and allow them to influence our reaction to it. However, the execution was gratuitously violent and in this production the staging overwhelmed the music entirely. I felt that the composer's voices didn't have a chance; they were obliterated by the sensationalist staging of the work.

This problem of honoring the composer's ideas came up in class when we were discussing the ways in which the 2005 "Live on Broadway" version of Candide altered the original work so as to cut out much of the original import and cynicism. This line between honoring the composer's and librettist's original intentions and updating a work in order to attract a new audience is tricky.

Another recent example of an updated production that didn't fare so well, was this year's Tosca at the Metropolitan opera house. I won't go into it too much. I'll just say that the production attempted to turn Tosca into a comedy in many ways, ways that disregarded the intent of the original work, complete with a Spoletta who tripped every time he came onstage, gratuitous vulgarity, and a Tosca who never actually jumped. At the performance I saw, people behind me laughed when Tosca stabbed Scarpia...[For a venomous review of the production, try this one.]

Not all adaptations are bad though. Many of them succeed in bringing to light some part of a work that was previously hidden, or making a connection between the opera and the audience's collective experiences (For Example, the 2006 Parisian version of Candide). So, yes... it is easy to adapt something badly. One has to be careful; one has to find the balance. But I would argue that modernizing or adapting operas is an effective way to reintroduce them to a public that has not grown up with an affinity for opera in the same way an older generation may have. I would also argue that in our modern (or postmodern, Olivia?) world it seems that all press is good press. Tosca created controversy, but that meant that people were discussing it long after it closed. Couldn't that be a slightly different measure of success? Art should communicate something; it should inspire feelings, even if those feelings are negative.

Glitter and be Gay: A Modern Mad Scene

In Leonard Bernstein's work Candide, he used many different styles of music in order to convey the satirical nature of Voltaire's play, on which the work is based. For example, as Ms. Leonard suggested, the twelve-tone row on which the theme of the kings is based, is used to poke fun at the (outdated) musical tradition of serialism.

We have all heard Cunegonde's aria "Glitter and be Gay" ad nauseum, so it wasn't until this week, when we were discussing the deeper layer of meaning in the work, that I realized that the melodrama portrayed in the aria is a satirical tool. On a political level, the aria (and the character of Cunegonde herself) can be seen as a criticism of American institution of Capitalism (and the evils of it). However, on a musical level, the aria is, in effect, a nod to the many Bel Canto mad scenes written by composers such as Gaetano Donizetti and Vincenzo Bellini. There are a few aspects of the aria that suggest this connection:

1. The first thing we hear in "Glitter and be Gay" is a mournful trill by a solo woodwind. The use of such an obligato instrument can be seen throughout the Bel Canto genre. For instance, the use of the flute (originally the glass harmonica....if you want to hear something really creepy, go listen to this!) in Lucia's mad scene in Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor sheds light on the state of mind of the character, while, at other times, acting as the other voice(s) in her head. The obligato instrument becomes, in effect, a scene partner for the devastated soprano, often engaging in musical "dialogue". One can hear this parodied by Bernstein in the last section of coloratura in "Glitter and be Gay" where the solo woodwind again precedes the soprano, offering a phrase of her original allegro melody, which the soprano echoes with a variation (You can hear this at 5:49 on the clip below).
2. Secondly, Bernstein portrays Cunegonde's character musically at two emotional extremes: devastated and ecstatic. First, we hear the woodwind dialoguing with the soprano over woeful, extended chromatic lines in the strings. Then at "And yet, of course, I rather like to revel...", the brass enters and suddenly the mood shifts to the other extreme entirely without so much as a measure of transition. This stark shift in mood shed's light on Cunegonde's unstable mental state perfectly. This is further underlined by the clever use of the constrast in timbres. They highlight Cunegonde's assertion that instead of being "basely tearful" (Listen for the woodwinds at 2:44), she will be "bright and cheerful" (listen for the change in timbre after those words: 2:50). Her descent from a high pitched frenzy back down to the original mood of the piece (and into an orchestra interlude that is punctuated by Cunegonde's melodramatic speech) brings home this point all the more. If done effectively, by the end of this piece, I think the audience should feel slightly bipolar.
   
3. Furthermore, Cunegonde's unstable mental state is described by both the driving tempo of the coloratura sections and the hysterical nature (both in the funny sense and the true sense of the word) of the coloratura itself. Especially in the final section where the vocal line comes unglued from the rhythmic assertions of the orchestra (around 5:35), one starts to see Cunegonde's facade fall apart.
4. Another way in which Bernstein pokes fun at the Bel Canto traditions is found in the tongue-in-cheek nature of the entire piece. We are supposed to believe that Cunegonde is bemoaning her fate as a bird kept in a "gilded cage"; however, it appears that she is more than a little satisfied with the perks of that position ("I'll take their diamond necklace!"). In a mad scene such as the ones in Anna Bolena or Lucia di Lammermoor, it is the moments when the characters come back to reality that are the most heart wrenching (Thank you Ms. Thomas!). However, in "Glitter and be Gay", it is debatable whether the tonally minor sections (that section of melodramatic speech doesn't even have the added heightening of pitch...) are Cunegonde's reality and the frantic major sections are her madness, or vice versa. Within that facade and ambiguity lies the satire.

In closing, I offer this:

First things first....

First, in answer to the hypothetical question, "Could a man play Cunegonde?", there is this: