Green Day - 21st Century Breakdown

Here comes that 90’s whining, non-motivated post-punk bank with yet another critically acclaimed work – their second in a row to be termed “an opera.” How did the boys follow up their most critically acclaimed (and surprisingly successful) punk opera, “American Idiot?” By composing and recording an even bigger, punk opera (in three acts, no less!): “21st Century Breakdown.”

“Breakdown” really is that rare masterpiece of pop which the record companies have been hungry for and mourning the loss of, all while simultaneously doing everything in their power to ensure these kind of albums don’t happen at all. That it got made at all is rather amazing – and that it’s “Green Day” who got there – is a rather telling – and WELCOME surprise – and a healthy indication that the music industry is not quite as dead or stagnant as many would like us to believe it is.

As with “American Idiot” the boys have looked to the mess of the world around them for inspiration finding plenty to fuel their cantos of complaint and contemplation. While most rock/pop musicians are drone on endlessly about the banalities of unreciprocated love or busying themselves at press conferences denying their homoerotic locker room entanglements and media-grabbing antics “Green Day” harkens back to the days of social consciousness of the folk strummers – and the angst of 70’s punk. That they’re capable of blending it all into a sort of unifying stew . . . an amalgamation of “pop styles” that existed before they sauntered onto the scene is a welcome sign of hope for an otherwise very tired and often lackluster pop industry.

The songs run a surprising gamut of styles from well scrubbed, no frills post-punk to enormous anthem-like ballads “21 Guns” (which they performed beautifully – and powerfully – on the Saturday Night Live season finale). There’s something inspiring here, too, hearing angry young men sing a call to arms as they do in one of the opera’s most hypnotic numbers, “Do you know you the enemy?

“Bringing on the fury
The choir infantry
Revolt against the honor to obey
Overthrow the effigy
The vast majority
Burning down the foreman of control . . .
. . . Violence is an energy
Silence is the enemy
So gimme gimme revolution”


Yes . . . Gimme revolution, too! It's all awfully inspiring, provocative and infectious. Rather quickly I found myself singing along - each song almost instantly memorable even after but a single hearing. I must say, I find it most interesting (and just a bit amusing) that, for two records in a row now, rock's most unexpected bad boys have chosen to describe their work as opera. They'll get no argument from me.

Despite the praise being heaped upon it, a lot of critics are saying this latest “opera” is “too perfect” (what in insane thing to say) and cannot possibly repeat the success of “American Idiot.” Yet, what’s truly interesting to me is that “Breakdown” (unlike “Idiot”) is in actual preparations for a fully-staged theatrical presentation by the Berkeley Repertory Theater, which opens in September. Can Broadway and London, or even Hollyweird be that far behind? The songs – played back-to-back, last just a touch over 70 minutes – which, with some “breath” between them (and stage business) could make a nice short evening length work. Arjuna also runs at 70 minutes. These two could share a fascinating bill someday!

I’d imagine that neither of these two operas will win much fandom on this list – but each serves to show that opera as a form is very much still alive . . . and a lot more than high notes, bad wigs and dying courtesans.

Wonders Are Many: The Making of Doctor Atomic

Continuing in my current obsession with John Adams' new opera, "Doctor Atomic" I recently learned of a documentary filmed at the time the opera was being created in San Francisco. Of course, I had to have it. Now I do.

What a fascinating film this is. It comes at you from two interesting perspectives as both historical documentary and a major art project. In easily digestable format director Jon Else combines interviews, rehearsal footage and commentary by the cast and creators of Doctor Atomic - weaving in the story of the development of the atom bomb and the Manhattan Project. All of it is narrated by the mellow voice of Eric Owens, the baritone who has sung (I beleive) every performance of the role of General Groves.

The marriage of these two stories into a cohesive whole works wonders itself, as a perfect balance is struck between following the creation of a new opera and the history of nuclear physics involved in creating the bomb. For those whom this sounds bizarre, to say the least, let me say, I can't think of anyone who's interest would not be held - or even riveted by the manner in which its done.

There is fascinating interview footage with Oppenheimer himself, disturbing shots and clips of bombs testings (not easy to watch) and one truly gets a sense of the project as well as a sense of the bizarre community that occupied Trinity. It was interesting as well to see and hear the singers approaching their music in the first rehearsals, taking suggestions from the composer who was still very much working on the piece, changing things as they went along. Peter Sellars can bother some folk, but his infectiousness and thoughtfulness clearly command the respect of all of his cast members, as well as the composer himself.

Especially moving for me was seeing Finley rehearsing his big first act aria for the first time . . . this piece simply destroying me every time. To hear his own connection with it, how he wishes it had been something he had actually written, speaks volumes about his identification with the piece. It's overwhelming.

It is unnerving watching film clips of bombs 60 years ago - then seeing life- sized props being brought into the War Memorial Opera House (the name of the building really taking an unusually strong symbolism here).

There was some REAL backstage drama which I remembered reading about when it happened, but since forgotten (til now, of course!). Tom Randle - a favorite of many of ours - and portraying Robert Wilson in the opera was let go a little more than a week before opening night, replaced by his understudy, Thomas Glenn. The scene of Randle reading the announcement is one of those horrifying things every performer dreads.

I can't stress enough how unusual a movie this is - very powerful on all accounts. If I've a gripe it's only a wish for some extras, deleted scenes, photo galleries, more bio material, etc. Other than that, it's one amazing movie.

Dr. Atomic: Trying to Understand Art in the Atomic Age

In my childlike and endless fascination of nearly all things, I TRY always to understand as many different perspectives as there are people to produce them. (And yes, the result usually leaves me more confused than it does anything else). That fascination extends especially to new, little known and/or forgotten works and very likely the culprit of my desires to attend, say Salieri’s Falstaff, or Vivaldi’s L'incoronazione di Dario over a performance of Puccini’s La Boheme, regardless of WHO might be in the cast of either. For me, it tends more to be about the work than the workers (or, as friends tire of hearing me say: more about the opera than the singer).

By varying degrees of difference, few of us are actually alike, no matter how much we may share or how similarly we may see our lives, our plights, or affectations. When I first began listening to opera as a child, I thought of how alone I was in this obsession. As I grew older and began studying music, I thought, “how wonderful” to be able to share this obsession with so many like-minded music lovers.” As I grow older still, I realize, outside of the music itself, how precious little I often have in common with many other opera, symphony, and recital attendees. I understand that we all come to music, to the opera especially, because of our own reasons and these may or may not be shared by others – either many or few.

I was overwhelmed the first time I heard Doctor Atomic several years ago. As soon as a performance became available on pirate DVD, I snatched it up, and played it. And played it. I grew as familiar as I could with the libretto, Adams’ settings of it, the orchestral music and electronic sounds – coming to believe it to be one of this composer’s greatest works. Adams is a composer whose work I liked immediately: everything I heard of early on – Shaker Loops, Grand Pianola Music, etc., got me me thinking, made me smile. None of it, however, left me remotely prepared for the piece which would grab me as almost no other late 20th century work had previously done: the massively constructed “Harmonielehre” (1984) in a recording led by the composer himself. The first time I heard those opening chords I, literally, fell out of my chair and onto my knees. I remember the moment as though it happened an hour ago.

Harmonielehre – this work, alone, made me reevaluate my already positive assessments of contemporary music - especially Adams’, as well as the role it was taking and would play in my life. It soon seemed everything composed was simply the next thing in a logical, natural progression – in his expression, the flow of his creativity - I was finding a composer who seemed to be writing the soundtrack to my own life. Frightening. Beautiful.

I understand and even appreciate how many do not care for Adams’ music. But, as there tends to be whenever personalities are involved (i.e., “always”) there seems also to be some malevolent feelings directed against the composer himself, these bizarrely fixed and fueled fictional agendas perpetuated against him for . . . reasons I never fully comprehend. Sometimes the backlash against his music seems to stem from those who find him “an intellectual” – an almost damnable offense in a 21st century America obsessed with redneck and low-folk inspired humor and sensibilities and one prejudice needing to make a long-overdue retreat.

Still, if one is able to listen to interviews with or read any of many excellent articles on the man one would likely discover a more truthful representation of WHO John Adams is. It is therefore when I see charges like “self-indulgent” – “narcissistic” – “too academic” I can tend to get a bit testy. While this is true generally, it is particularly so with works which speak to me emotionally and which hit, then linger with me my noting the residual impact they leave on my life. We are all well aware of the strength of negative reviews and opinions – and how more fun they are to read than positive ones - with its instant “caught with your pants down” or ‘”gotcha!” quality that provides one with a fleeting instant of superiority to (though rarely sympathy for) the person we're examining under the microscope.

Few of us have the inclination, time, or even desire to understand all of what goes into a composition of ANY sort: painting, opera or a meal of great complexity, seeing only the end result which, of course, is all we’re meant to (if the painter, composer or chef is doing his job). Still, this does not prevent us from attempting to fragment the thing, to – even with incomplete, or worse, incorrect information – try to make more of it than it is – analyzing it using our own spec sheets as to what should have happened when, what disaster could have been averted, improved upon, etc., etc.

Entering as yet another variable into the complexity of the equation is also the eternal question of whether a composer is writing for "us" or is writing for himself. (There is no one correct answer to this . . . and there won’t be a quiz.)

With all of this as preamble, how then do we fairly assess and critique Mr. Adams’ opus three years now before the public? Critics and audiences alike have wrestled with not only the difficult theme of his Manhattan Project project, but the very manner by which it was constructed: with elements of electronic etude, symphonic sturm und drang, ancient and modern philosophies, declassified government documents, dance, ballet, and a libretto about as far away from “standard issue dramaturgy” as Philip Glass’s Bhagavad Gita-inspired “Satyagraha.”
(Adams and Sellars also draw from the Indian epic for “Dr. Atomic”). Poetry – especially in the guise of “sonnets” (the word itself sounding affected to many audiences, particularly American ones), is not what one expects in plays, lyrics, songs – and barely in arias.

We tend to like our opera clear cut and natural yet what could possibly be “less natural” then the very idea of setting speechified text to music in the first place? And yet, by including these ancient texts and sonnets Adams and Sellars have drawn a line – a link between past and future – a distinct connect of language and imagery at once both familiar and foreign. It may be intellectual in its construct, and even its execution, but NOT in its result which is immediate and heartfelt. That is, to me, the essence of art – to take what is not and construct from it an “is.” (If ANYONE is still following me here, bless you!)

I don’t think Adams ever wants his work to be easy on his audience. He is ever probing, inquisitive, suggestive, menacing, thoughtful, arbitrary and indirect. His operas lay open every possibility for exploration of their dramas – usually with an objectivity not easily found in most of the cut-and-dry scenarios most of us tend like in our opera. In almost all of Adams’ work, every character emerges both as hero and monster - we see them completely. Understandably for some such ambiguity of character is disturbing in that they find themselves unable to relate to the characters they’re trying to understand, to feel emotions for. Who is the villain? Who, the hero? All of us.

I’ve heard many confused statements following opening night, people wondering whether Oppenheim and Co. are being portrayed as heroes or villains; whether Adams' opera is glorifying the bomb; even if the subject matter is appropriate for a musical/dramatic treatment in purely “operatic” terms. These questions perplex me for if the answer to any of them is “yes” – or “no” – then we’ve essentially limited ourselves, placed boundaries and cut offs as to what is or isn’t - can or cannot be "art." Adams’ works – not just his operas – constantly and gloriously smash through these boundaries, extending the perimeters of what was and what can be. This is not to say he is alone in this endeavor, but there is no denying the man is at the forefront of it as far as American music is concerned.

The man has devoted his life to studying, discovering and understanding both himself, his species and the world we inhabit. I don’t know how well he’s succeeded or believes he has but, during the process, Adams’ work has shined a light on the best and worst of us offering up a reflection of all which makes us distinctly human and imperfect; creatures capable of creating and destroying, of being our own gods and monsters.

And so, with all of this filling and spilling from my head, I again listened to Doctor Atomic, wrapping myself up in the warm and tight complexities of its magnificent score, feeling it become more and more familiar – and realize I am no closer to understanding or figuring what its about any more than I was several years ago. This is the ultimate beauty and triumph of art – not my ability to grow and understand it, but by how it continually defeats, confuses and evades me no matter how strong my attempt to grasp it is. Little wonder then that it is Donne’s sonnet that has affected me most of all - even more than the detonation of the bomb itself. In the restlessness and confusion of Donne’s words, we see and feel the link Adams creates from it, connecting a modern score to a 400 year old text and in so doing, shows us that no less is our desire for sublation and knowledge, no greater is our understanding, and no less is our urgency - our need to understand.

“Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to'another due,
Labor to'admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly' I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, 'untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you' enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”

Amen.

John Adams: Doctor Atomic = Wow!

I've held off writing about Dr. Atomic. I've now watched the OpusArte DVD of the original production (mounted at De Nederlandse Opera) for the third time and haven't changed my mind. It's a masterpiece. There's no denying some of the power of the score, but it is in the many more introspective moments that I find its most arresting beauty and power.

Gerald Finley - a singer I went nuts for as Papageno nearly 20 years ago, still has a marvelously appealing boyish handsomeness that suits this role to a tee. This could be the role of his career so far. The voice is in absolutely peak condition, one of the most beautiful baritones singing today (in my opinion) with a winning combination of brightness, mellowness, one of the most even-sounding vibratos of any singer today and a light rich quality that simply gleams. His body was made for the stage, moving with a relaxed athleticism, and knows how to strike a pose that hits you like a spotlight. In many regards, his intensity reminds me of another favorite singer of mine, Lorraine Hunt Lieberson in that his gestures - while highly theatrical, seem germane, perfectly suited to the character - as though they could not be performed any other way. This is star quality that elevates a performance to greatness.

The most powerful moment for me remains the ending of the first act, Oppenheimer's brilliant prayer/aria "Batter my heart, three person'd God." I cannot watch this without tears pouring from first to last. The music itself is remarkable, but combined with Finley's voice, and passionate interpretation, the heightened sense of movement by Peter Sellars and the staging itself, it becomes nearly unbearable in its intensity and beauty. With the bomb behind a curtain, like some templed sacred object behind a veil, Oppenheimer slowly approaches the veil, then turns and falls, and repeats the a series of gestures, each time with increasing intensity rising, falling, beating his heart with fist, hands to his head, then again approaches the veil. Following the final verse, he enters the veiled room, left in silhouhette, his hand raised towards the object itself. It is one of the most beautifully powerful stagings of an aria I've experienced.

Richard Paul Fink is another of my favorite singers and his beautiful bass sound, remarkable diction and fine dramatic instincts make his portrayal of Teller as important as the central role of Oppenheimer, particularly in the first half.

Jessica Rivera is simply amazing as Kitty Oppenheimer, her first aria "Am I in your light," as the couple is in bed, her husband trying to study, offers a stunning contrast to all of the music before it. Oppenheim gives up his reading, and responds to her, climbing over and gently caressing her with stanza from Baudelaire. It is a quiet, intimate and beautiful moment.

Eric Ownes offers a richly detailed, entirely believable performance as General Groves, expressing his frustrations, concerns, detailing his weight issues (complete with calorie counts!) in that gorgeous, sonorous baritone of his.

The remainder of the cast, James Maddalena, Thomas Glenn, Jay Hunter Morris, and particularly the oddly moving performance of Ellen Rabiner as Pasqualita, are all up to the same level as the central roles.

I have some issues with the staging, and could have easily been happier if Lucinda Childs' incessant choreography had but cut - by at least half. Some of it is highly effective, such as the angular, ritualistic movement out in the desert, but much of it appeared as though a rehearsal for the Jets and Sharks were taking place at the rear of the stage while an opera was going on.

The chorus of De Nederlandse Opera sings English about as well as any English speaking chorus, and the musical direction of Lawrence Renes with the Netherlands Philharmonic rises to the level of Adams' remarkable score.

If I've any gripe (outside of the unnecessary choreography) it would be one I've made of many live performance videos: no curtain calls or opportunity to see - and share in - the audience's reaction. This is a bad move in my opinion. I understand by the end of viewing this how emotionally drained a viewer can be - I was exhausted - but there were several thousand people cheering this and, apparently, an enormous ovation for the performers. I find it a bit rude as well not to allow these people who'd offered these intense, blazing performances for three hours of a difficult score, the opportunity to take a bow in our respective living rooms.

There are a bunch of extra features, mini documentaries, and interviews that make this an exceptional DVD purchase for anyone interested in the future of opera. A truly overwhelming operatic experience. For anyone interested or wanting a glimpse, Oppenheimer's great aria "Batter my heart" is available on youtube at the following link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yq6uI-IRa9A&feature=related

It's simply amazing, and I cannot recommend this set highly enough.