Heggie's "Three Decembers" with Frederica von Stade

I don't know what I was expecting, but the reviews were almost uniformly horrible for Heggie’s latest opera – horrible in nearly way: staging, music, libretto, etc. I became somewhat suspicious, however, when I read how Heggie was writing "ungrateful" music that lies "awkwardly" for the voice; and how his score while "threatening to break into melody - never really does." Funny, what I listened to this past Saturday was the complete opposite; vocal writing that was gracious and filled with melody with words sung nearly as naturally as speech. It’s a bit of a “fluffy” score (“fluffy” in a positive way) score - more Broadway musical (think "The Light in the Piazza" or "A Little Night Music") than “standard” operatic. Even more so, it also reminded me (enormously so) of Menotti's early hits - "The Telephone", "The Old Maid and the Thief" and "Amelia Goes to the Ball." In fact, though I don’t recall reading this in a single review of the piece, I felt Menotti's presence throughout the work . Audience response was positive, and strong with audible laughter in all the right places and a hearty applause after each of the "numbers."

Honestly, the score bursts with beautiful melodies that almost belie the sparseness of the orchestration. Composed for 11 instruments – a string quintet, some wind players doubling on instruments, percussion and two pianos (played by conductor, Patrick Summers and composer, Mr. Heggie himself), the show could easily (with the right talent) be mounted virtually anywhere.

So frequently today's composers of operas are criticized for always tackling BIG subjects, yet when a composer tackles a "lighter" (even if only deceptively so) subject such as Heggie’s work on Terrence McNally’s intimate family drama of both laughter and tears, the subject matter is dismissed as "trite" or "sentimental."

The tale it takes place over three Decembers: 1986, 1996 and 2006, and centers around Madeline ("Maddy") an aging actress (von Stade) and the uncomfortable relationship she enjoys with two adult children. There is Charlie, her son, gay and whose lover is dying of complications from AIDS; and daughter Bea, married to a very successful businessman who cheats on her - something Maddy relates to. In '86 the kids meet Maddy as she's in rehearsals for her first Broadway musical. The kids do rattle on a bit much feeling sorry for themselves about how Maddy was an "absentee mom" always on the road. Maddy's defense was she was a young widow and only did what she could to assure there was food on the table and shoes on their feet. She's also keeping a dark secret about the kids' father's death (the children were 7 and 5 at his passing) - whom they always sing well of.

In the second act, the siblings go after mama with such a vengeance that Maddy is practically broadsided by their efforts. Bea, in particular, neither disguises nor let’s up her hostility, provoking her mother to blurt out the ugly truth about their late father, a man they have until now revered as a near saint. Maddy’s coming clean with the truth elicits only anger from both children, each inferring how different their lives would be if Maddy had given them the truth.

Her defense is heartrending “How could I look in your eyes and tell you . . . I had to find a version of life that we could all live with. I did it to protect you.” Von Stade simply shines here and one sees – if only through her own eyes – how she viewed her actions as selfless – as a sacrifice.

In fact, Frederica von Stade sounded absolutely stunning from start to finish. The voice no longer possesses that crisp, gossamer, reedy tone so many of us fell under the spell of decades ago, but nonetheless uniquely stamped with von Stade’s individual stamp. The youthfulness has been replaced by a richness and maturity (without once sounding “old”) that only age – and its wisdom can bring out in a singer. It’s a voice with decidedly more cream than muscle and quite honestly hearing of her desire to do The Marschallin, all I cab say is “go for it, Flicka!” Quite simply, von Stade’s was a tour de force performance, hilarious, touching, vain - it was clearly tailor made for her (but should transfer well) and she did not disappoint.

Keith Phares was touching as Charlie, and his singing at the end of Act I - (with the fog rolling in around them on the Golden Gate Bridge) was particularly beautiful. Kristin Clayton's Bea was lovely, though the character is a difficult one to warm up do: a joyless alcoholic, she finds anyone to blame for life’s one I have a tough time feeling complete sympathy for. That said, she sang with great emotion and entirely believable.

It isn't Elektra. It isn't Butterfly. It sure ain't Norma - but what I heard was a charming, thoughtful work I'd love the chance to see and hear in the theatre. It really is a lovely piece.

p.
http://sharkonarts.blogspot.com/

Operatic Conservatism: A Response and Rejection of It

A few years back I found myself embroiled in an argument, defending Cecilia Bartoli’s intent on making an album of Salieri’s music – and thus writing in defense of the oft-maligned Salieri.

What prompted my defense was a published quote stating “Everyone is aware that Salieri’s music is severely lacking in musical substance, refinement and is generally unlistenable.” The quote went on to say that Bartoli (and anyone else performing Salieri) was scraping the bottom of the barrel . . . and there ensued more badmouthing about about the Emperor’s new clothes, etc.,

One of the things that bums me out most about the current classical music “industry” scene is that audiences seem to be becoming more and more conservative, less able, or perhaps only less willing, to being challenged by the new or unfamiliar. This keeps us from achieving any meaningful or deeper musical intelligence, since staying with the familiar we’re automatically depriving ourselves of activity that would enhance our awareness of tradition, its role and where music is going - as well as from whence it came.

It is this same prosaic attitude and inactivity which (in part) prevents new operas from being developed and actively becoming part of the repertoire. I recall how most of the professional reviews – almost all negative – for Jake Heggie’s "Dead Man Walking" offered neither admiration for, nor appreciation of, the risks the young composer took in attempting to write his an opera, his first. That he took on such a great challenge in a suffocating environment hostile towards anything new is even more remarkable. Interestingly, audiences found the work approachable, powerful and theatrical. It has gone on to receive productions throughout the world, despite continued negative press.

More and more I am disgusted by audiences who seem to avoid any sort of challenge - who want their opera, like most of their art, easily digestible; in some instances, even pre-digested. (I'll chew on my own, thank you very much.)

Recently I read a criticism of a production of Elektra I rather liked as not being deranged, demented or mad enough, comparing the heroine with Birgit Nilsson who “looked and sounded crazy from the start.” This got me to wondering: why is it we demand every damned cat be skinned the same way? If we're going to keep hauling out the same operas, is there, in today's climate, no room for at least a fresh look? Good grief, Nilsson last sang the role nearly 30 years ago and some of us still can’t move on? Still can’t accept a different perspective? Still can’t accept a different voice?

As familiar as I become with my favorite works, I'm forever seeking new ways in which to explore them, new things to find in them; to discover, as with a good friend that, while I may expect a certain level of comfort, there might be a challenge or two waiting in store as well. It keeps things fresh. Prevents mental mildew and ennui from setting in.

But that conservatism I'm complaining of extends not only to newer works of the last century and of our own time, but to ALL things unfamiliar; even (or especially) "old" things. Those that would suppose our enlightened age to possess the final word on what is worth exploring and rediscovering, knowingly or not, limit or minimize the efforts and gifts of those who blazed every path before us. To dismiss the exploration of the works of Salieri - or of any unfamiliar composer - is to automatically, without just reason, close ourselves off from the possibility of experiencing . . . well, possibilities. It wasn't too awfully long ago Bach was considered an inferior composer to Buxtehude, Hasse and Telemann and his works lay dormant, unperformed. In my own brief lifetime I've seen the operatic works of Handel go from being summarily dismissed as "too much of the same," to the latest craze.

The effort to offer only the familiar feels too much like an attempt of universalizing or homogenizing everything for a more common, blander palate. It is the equivalent of "one size fits all" when clearly it doesn't and can't.

There is perhaps a place for conservatism (and I don't mean tempering) in the arts which I possibly just don't understand, for I feel it the very antithesis of why art happens in the first place. Certainly some would argue it is to merely entertain, but what is wrong with letting it also enlighten?

There is something about the age in which we live that bothers me. Perhaps because of the time constraints we've put upon ourselves via making our lives easier than in prior centuries, we seem to have developed a feel we've only the time (or is it the need?) to have and enjoy only the very best. If this is so, how then can we use “only the best” as gauge or measure? Every day it seems as though I hear or read of our society’s increasing inability to enjoy or appreciate something that isn't the biggest, the best, the grandest, etc. - be it food, music, film, drama, architecture, gardening . . . whatever. It's a cheerless commentary then that ours has, in essence, become a society of size queens.

While Salieri's music may not be deemed genius (though who truly of us can play judge, outside of our personal tastes?) his compositions do offer something other than the steady diet of sameness to which we’ve become content (or overjoyed) sustaining ourselves with. I've enjoyed just about every bit of Salieri I've heard and can't (truly) understand the damning he gets. I've watched the Schwetzingen DVD of "Falstaff" at least a half dozen times now, and have grown to love it more each passing time. If there’s something wrong with me for liking this music, I hope I’ll remain blissfully ignorant of the cure!

I would never imagine disputing the greatness of Mozart, but we seem to forget – or even worse, not care - that there were others, many of them, who came before and during the time of music’s beloved golden child. So then, where are the performances of the composers from the Mannheim School? Franz Richter (who died only two years before Mozart) wrote some 100 symphonies (or more) 80 of which have survived to this day/ Ever heard one? He penned 39 masses, countless solo works, chamber works, motets, concerti, etc. In addition to his dazzling prolificacy as a composer, Richter was a performer: a highly celebrated opera and concert singer, successfully touring France, the Netherlands and England. Not only this, Richter was one of the most respected of musical educators, teaching many gifted composers and performers. One of his treatises on musical composition was translated into a number of languages and during his lifetime and after, taught around the world.

While there are perhaps a few of us who would be more than merely curious to hear more of his music, certain respected critics, have given him a casual listen, dismissing it with variations of the damnable "he ain't Mozart." Even with years of training and experience I'm glad my own ears are not so highly skilled for me to reject Salieri, Richter or anyone else as not "important" as ol’ Amadeus.

Another Mannheim composer, Ignaz Holzbauer, was widely acclaimed throughout Europe, moving outside of Vienna and finding work in Milan and Venice. Here's another wildly prolific composer who gave the world some 70 symphonies, many popular operas (including his own La Clemenza di Tito years before Mozart’s), numerous masses, concerti, chamber and solo works for a number of instruments. Anyone heard any good Holzbauer lately? I didn’t think so.

Then there was Johann Stamitz (father of the still, somewhat semi-popular Karl). Stamitz, Sr., was one of the very first proponents of the four movement symphony, long before Mozart adopted the switch from three to four movements - years, in fact, before Mozart was even born! Yet, often – and incorrectly, Mozart (and M. Haydn) are given more credit for the 4 movement development. Certainly Mozart and his contemporaries took the symphony to a higher level, but the groundwork had already been laid for them - they had only to take it and run. There’s certainly got to be some advantage in developing and advancing of an idea when one has the added benefit of not having had to "invent" the idea in the first place.

If we look at music as an evolutionary art we cannot - or should not – be so quick in summarily dismissing or ignoring its history. I don't believe it is should be a requirement of every listener to know "from whence we came" - but I believe too many of us call ourselves "music lovers" when in actuality we are music enjoyers; casual observers. Not a bloody thing wrong with that, but, if we profess to actually "love" something does it not behoove us to explore its history, understand it and accept it on its own merits for precisely what it is and from where it came? I can't imagine otherwise.

I've been thrilled to see the resurgence of interest in music earlier even then the early Viennese and Mannheim Schools (far earlier!). One of the highlights of my life so far was being able to experience a an absolutely life-altering performance of Hildegard von Bingen's "Ordo Virtutum." Short of having lived in the 12th Century, this opportunity would not have been possible in any other era than ours.

Now, hopefully we’ll live long enough to see more music by the aforementioned guys get a chance to also see the light of day. Now, that would be something!

p.