Sean Penn as Leonard Bernstein?

Martin Scorsese is planning a biopic of Leonard Bernstein. Now, Who should play ol' Lennie? My choice would be Sean Penn. I doubt he'd get the role, but I have to ask, why not give him a try?

Composer Rivalries: Menotti v. Stravinsky

Of course we all know the Salieri/Mozart feud (both alleged and real), but they weren't alone.

I recall in college reading an interview with Menotti, and his making some disparaging remark about Stravinsky . . . something along the lines of "not knowing what to do with the key of C." Despite my great love of all things Stravinsky, I found the remark humorous, though slightly bitchy on Menotti's part.

Years later, I read more of some supposed rivalry between the two composers.

In his book, Stravinsky, Inside Out, Charles M. Joseph tells of how Stravinsky was jealous of Menotti's celebrity due to his popular operas on radio, television and Broadway. Stravinsky figured he'd also have a go at it, and of course, created The Flood for television. Later, he thought he'd also take Menotti's model of producing opera on Broadway and bring The Rake's Progress to the Great White Way.

Rouben Ten-Arturunian (designer for The Flood) approached Igor, suggesting he forgo producing Rake on Broadway, scrap the Metropolitan Opera's production (which had only seen five performances in the house its premiere season, and two the following) and allow Menotti to re-design and direct it for the Metropolitan Opera. (One of Menotti's biographers incorrectly asserts Menotti did have a hand in the Met's production, though nothing in the Met's annals suggests such a thing actually occurred).

That notion sent Stravinsky into a tailspin of rage, and, incensed he wrote a letter to Ten-Arturunian stating he'd rather not have his opera staged there at all, much less have Menotti put it, "especially if it played between Lulu and some jazz-integratationist rubbish." Youza!

So, it isn't just the performers who can snipe at each other.

p.

The Classic Westminster Gold Album Covers

Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould

I just returned from a showing at the Portland Museum of Art of Michele Hozer and Peter Raymont's film: "GENIUS WITHIN: THE INNER LIFE OF GLENN GOULD."

Though I've been obsessed with Mr. Gould since childhood (he was one of my earliest inspirations for attempting a career in music), the film opens up areas I had not previously known about him. Through numerous interviews with his first girlfriend, his best friend, Vladimir Ashkenazy, Lukas and Cornelia Foss (and both their children), clips of Leonard Bernstein (including his now rather hilarious pre-performance speech before they performed the Brahms D minor Concerto - about their enormous differences on the work), the film is rich in both talk and music.

The biggest revelation to me was the affair between Gould and Mrs. Foss which lasted several years, and for which she left her husband, moving herself and the children to Montreal, and the slow disintegration of that relationship as Gould's eccentricities became more and more pronounced. It was touching and poignant in a way that almost seemed invasive.

I'd almost forgotten how devastatingly handsome was Gould in his youth, like a 50's movie star, really. There is, naturally, a good deal centered around his early years and the beginning of his performing career, with some wonderful clips of his tour of the Soviet Union.

There are also some generous clips of Gould's own movies, including one particularly hilarious short with Gould appearing on the beach, coat, gloves, the works, sitting in a director's chair, then having some gorgeous black woman in a bikini doing an exotic combination that recalled the Watusi and the Girl from Imponema, the last shot of which finds Gould pants legs rolled up and sort of half "directing" her and dancing a bit in the ocean himself. (The audience went into hysterics - and it was truly funny stuff!)

The film deals openly (and fairly in depth) about Gould's departure from the concert stage at only 31 years of age, and his drug addictions, hypocondria, and difficulties in his relationships, never in a gossipy manner, but with a rather matter-of-fact honesty that does not in the least diminish one's respect for Gould's genius.

At just under two hours, this is one of the most satisfying documentary portraits of a 20th century classical musician I believe I've ever seen - and yet, upon the closing credits, I found I wanted even more. The audience reacted loudly throughout (several people even clapping along with Petula Clark during her rendition of "Downtown."

If this is showing anywhere near you, I urge you to see this. It's a beautiful peaen to one of the most iconic performers of the last century, done with extraordinary care, and not just a little love for its subject. Highly
recommended.

The Right to Scornful Reviews

I was recently in an argument with someone about the role of critics. I mentioned that wrongful criticism has killed more than one promising career – and not always for the reasons one might think. My challenger countered by saying:

“Any creator of art who can't stand heat, should stay out of the kitchen. The truth is a critic has every right to create a scornful review and it needs no justification.”

Really? That’s “The Truth?” Well, needless to say, this hit a nerve with me. A really big, raw nerve. Honestly? I’ve grown far beyond merely being weary (and wary) of such “one size fits all/can’t stand the heat” rationalizations.

Throughout my life I’ve seen absolutely amazing paintings, murals, sculpture and jewelry created by artists who gave up because of cheap shots taken by a critic reducing their work, their worth and stature before potential audiences and consumers could have an opportunity to size them up for themselves. Likewise, some of the finest musicians I’ve ever heard – in an enormous range of styles - have disappeared before being able to make their mark on the world. Arguments are made that these artists are “too sensitive” or need to toughen up. Perhaps sometimes, but that is too simple a way out – a copout if you will. It also happens to sometimes be a mere matter of economics. More often than one might imagine it is an artist’s money issues not an inability to “stand the heat” which forces the gifted away from their true calling. I know.

I continued my argument stating that there should be some sort of competency test for a journalist who – no matter how terrible a writer – nonetheless wields a power he or she may not fully realize (and those who do, can be prickly insufferable bastards). My aggressor countered that such an expectation should be ignored – the periodicals job is to simply “sell” itself and most people don’t believe what a critic writes anyway.

Hmmmm . . . perhaps, but then why do we have them? Why, then, would anyone read something they know going in, will be false or incorrectly/inaccurately reported? Besides, we all can cite examples of a show that did poorly because no one attended why? Oh yes, the critic’s review declared it “an atrocity”

Merely because we, on a daily basis, read critics who are insipid, guilty of dumbing down, egregiously inaccurate, egotistical (or any other host of what should at minimum be deemed as detriments to journalistic integrity) is less than an insufficient reason of a periodical or newspaper keeping such a writer on its staff. I find the complacency of these organizations sickening and the inaccurate manner in which the arts are often covered (not to mention the “news” itself) absolutely rattles my cage.

I realize that I could be in the minority here (could be?) but millions of people read and rely on these writers to help shape their opinions on everything from what to wear, eat, hear, look at, and in some instances, live. The power exerted over both artist and public positively chills me.

Several years ago I watched the animated Disney film, “Ratatouille,” (I've since purchased it on DVD). This little movie went beyond my wildest expectations in very many regards. The film’s villain, an arrogant, boastful critic appropriately named “Monsieur Ego,” has an epiphany that brings about the tale’s dénouement. He begins his speech:

“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism
designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talents, new creations. The new needs friends.”

I had tears in my eyes – my heart swelling up to bursting point as I listened to this monologue. While M. Ego was specifically referring to food, the points he made go straight to the heart of any criticism.

“One person's ‘inflammatory writing’ is another's ‘truth’”.

One of my dearest friends happens also to be one of my favorite critics. I once commented on a less than glowing review of a performance I had found amazing. I realized that he was attending at least one performance – sometimes more each day all of which needed to be processed and reviewed. Somewhere in there he had to cram in some fast food and sleep. He didn’t complain but it was clear he was exhausted and quite possibly – despite his love of this music and the performers of it – the very last place in the world he wanted to be that night was “there.”

I realized the difficulty of what sounds like a “dream job” to many of us and, with some bit of embarrassment he admitted "You know, I think we lose perspective having to go things all the time - and sometimes we don’t have enough time to think about separating the junk from the genius."

Now what was that about truth?

PORTopera's Sparkling 15th Anniversary Gala

Maine’s only professional opera company, PORTopera, celebrated its 15th anniversary last night in a festive gala at Merrill Auditorium that bubbled like the champagne that seemed to be flowing all night.

Guest Maestro Robert Moody, Music Director for the Portland Symphony, made his company debut leading the orchestra in a sparkling reading of the Overture to Rossini’s Il Barbiere di Siviglia, and having the band onstage allowed opportunities for this terrific “pit band” to shine in the evening's orchestral numbers. This was most notable during the Intermezzo from Cavelleria Rusticana, where the high strings achieved a breathtaking, magical quality that hadn’t quite been captured earlier in their reading of the Act III Prelude from La Traviata. The oft-played Intermezzo has been featured in countless movies and employed in television advertisements selling everything from spaghetti sauce to Kleenex, yet when played so beautifully never fails to move an audience and did so last night.

The gala featured singers from past productions in familiar arias and scenes from opera’s greatest hits (or at least some of them). First up was our Mercutio from last season, Michael Maye. He began “Largo al factotum” from offstage, dashing out, hopping on one leg as though he’d just been “caught in the act” and had found himself in front of an audience. It was a fun "bit." Maye's voice is very comfortable sounding in the top – which seemed to grow in size, and his spirited manner, dashing about the stage, brought Figaro vividly to life. A bit of rushing on the singer's part caused a few timing blips between singer and band, but Moody showed himself to be an excellent “accompanist” paying as much attention and communicating to the singers behind his back, as to his merry band.

Next was the sylphlike Lauren McNeese the delightful lyric mezzo who appeared as Stephano in Romeo et Juliette and made her debut as a wily Rosina in “Barbiere.” Her “Una voce poca fa” was predictably delightful, the coloratura effortless and showing off a damned fine trill. Ms McNeese (as did all the ladies on this night) looked as good as she sounded . . . in a word: sensational.

Staying with Beaumarchais characters, and particularly Rosina was our Mimi, Pamela Armstrong now as the Countess from Nozze di Figaro in what was, for me, the most perfect moment of the evening. Armstrong gave a performance that was extraordinary – it was exactly as Mozart should be and the result was exquisite. Here was purity of sound wed to a lushness of timbre, amazing control of the line and remarkable attention to the wide dynamic of the aria. Halfway through I realized I’d never heard this aria sung better and today have been replaying this moment in my head. (Microphones above the stage had me daring to hope the evening will be released as a fundraiser for the company. Cross your fingers!)

Jan Opalach (Leporello) had fun with Figaro’s Se vuol ballare” and later his “Ah un foco insolito” teased us with what might have been had not the season’s production of “Don Pasquale” been cancelled. He was (as usual) a delight.

Ms, McNeese went from Rosina to Cherubino in a delightful “Voi, che sapete.”

The first half closed with most of Act III of La Boheme, Ms. Armstrong recreating her affecting Mimi, and our Romeo from last season, Gaston Rivero (looking like a pop star in non-standard issue trousers) as her Rodolfo. He was just as terrific, both voices soaring thrillingly out over the orchestra, opening up at the climaxes and taking our collective breath away. Mr. Mayes returned as Marcello joined by Sandra Lopez (Marguerite, Micaela and Nedda) to round out the act, each contributing their considerable all, particularly Mayes in his powerful exchange with Mimi. Though attired in concert gear (white dinner jackets and diva gowns) each number had been staged by company director Dona D. Vaughn, helping bring each work to life and particularly effective in Boheme and the Scenes from Carmen that closed the evening.

Following intermission Mr. Mayes returned with the Prologue from Pagliacci – getting things off to a nice start (and making me want to hear his complete Tonio), followed by Sandra Lopez in a rapturous Qual fiamma . . . Stridono lassu.”

Carmen dominated the balance of the gala and brought back Jeniece Golbourne, graduating from a smokin’ Lola into a smoldering, sizzling, Carmen. Statuesque and swathed in deep aqua, Golbourne moved barely a muscle during the Habanera, making the old chestnut positively sizzle. With a deep, richly fruity sound in the lower voice, all were unprepared for a top that was positively volcanic – and soared mightily through all of Carmen’s music. Joined by four singers from the Emerging Artist program, we were treated to a Smugglers’ Quartet that snapped, crackled and popped with life – Maestro Moody's bouncing on the podium adding a fun visual counterpoint to the proceedings.

Mr. Rivero returned to deliver Jose’s Flower Song (La fleur que tu m’avais jete) and, as good as he was in the Boheme, hearing him here confirmed my thoughts after his Romeo appearance: this is a voice meant for the French repertoire. An attractive reediness that perfectly fits the music, along with a real sense of line and the ability to darken, lighten and sweeten the tone, the sound opening up thrillingly the higher he went.

Mr. Mayes as Escamillo, returned to join them in the final scene (with cameos by Ms. Lopez & Ms. McNeese as Frasquita and Mercedes). Despite the jewel-toned gowns and white dinner jackets (Rivero eschewing his for a black opened shirt with rolled up sleeves – adding to Jose’s dementia) one almost forgot completely this wasn’t a fully staged performance, and our Jose and Carmen raised the ante up to a fever pitch finale that thrilled the entire house.

Self AdmissionTime: I groaned just a bit seeing the final number of the program would be that perennial gala closer “Make Our Garden Grow” from Bernstein’s “Candide.” I should have been (and properly was) ashamed of myself once the number began. Each singer emerged, from the wings, ambling onto the stage adding one more voice to a performance that grew measure-by-measure to its life affirming climax. The resulting effect was one of those spine-tingling moments that only great music can produce, and while standing ovations have become something of a routine these days, there was nothing for us to do but rise and cheer, and so we did.

Bravo, bravissimo to Dona D. Vaughn and PORTopera – and here’s to another wonderful 15 years!