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.

Menotti: The Saint of Bleeker Street

While I'm aware there's a good number of folk who despise the music of Gian Carlo Menotti, I'm going ahead with this post anyway.

I recently re-watched the old telecast of  The Saint of Bleeker Street from New York City Opera and found myself in a puddle of tears not only at the end, but at several other moments throughout. A well regarded critic - who's also close friend, once told me it was "too manipulative." I thought about that for a moment:  too manipulative?  Okay . . . perhaps, but cannot the same charge be leveled of not only many other operas, but of art and music generally?  The story is not presented as a series of unbiased facts but rather something told by a storyteller who invites us (and yes, manipulates) us into trying to see the tale as he or she does. I believe a willingness to be manipulated is part of the agreement we make whenever we enter an opera house, theatre . . . or even a museum.

Menotti's so-called "simple story" is, in truth, no such thing; From the beginning its layers peel back like the proberbial onion, each one revealing more and more. 

We are confronted with myiad components; it is at once a tale of fanaticism, the quest and questions for a spiritual journey, the interactions of a displaced community, the story of an abiding friendship, misunderstanding, loyalty, jealousy, murder, poverty, and . . . ultimately, hope. All of this hits us full force, without apologies, without excuses and yet, by the end, Menotti has left us even more room for thought as its many questions are left unresolved to all, except for Annina - the Saint herself, who, of course, cannot tell us.

I find Menotti's score to be the most beautiful of h is operas, and will go so far as to say, that musically it's one of the finest of all of the mid-20th century operas,  Even so, it gets frequently dismissed as "warmed over Puccini," though nothing could be further from the truth. As with most composers, there are noticeable influences throughout, and I'd go so far to say that Menotti puts as much Alban Berg and Mussorgsky into his score as Puccini.  Ultimately, however, he speaks here in a voice that, is distinguished and very much his own. We hear that turgid - angular chugging found in most of his scores for strings and winds that propel the story forward, He understands - and relishes - the relationship between dissonance and consonance and yes, when needed, is ever unafraid to tug at our heartstrings for those who, like myself, welcome having them so tugged. It is obvious he is writing from love and passion as well as skill.

His writing for strings rivals, and shares similarities here with Sibelius and Tchaikovsky. The tension of the string movements in the opening recalling a certain, more celebrated work by his friend, Mr. Barber. While giving us much to ponder, the long-phrased melodies for both orchestra and singers, can go directly to the heart - which is what I often want from an opera composer - and cause me both to think and feel . . . . simultaneously. Music allows us the unique ability to overpower more than one sense at a time, as happens with the gentle intermezzo before the final scene.

The writing for chorus in this opera is majestic and powerful. Ingeniously, Menotti's libretto never places this cathedral-like music in a vaulted church setting, but rather in a cold water flat, adding yet another dimension of thought . . . another layer of palpable emotion. I often think of Boris Godunov or even Porgy and Bess at times.

Saint is also packed with some marvelous arias, beginning with Annina's Stigmata aria. Brother Michele's I know that you all hate me has become one of those Menotti arias that finds its way into auditions and recitals for young tenors.  Desideria's big scene raises  the dramatic stakes to a boiling point.  There is  Don Marco's short aria with its postlude that becomes an intermezzo between the two halves of Act 1, and so many other ensembles.

The scenes of loyalty and friendship, between Annina and Carmela go straight to the heart.  Manipulated that way? Yeah . . . and beautifully. 

I know all the reasons it is not, yet personally still find it difficult to comprehend why this opera is so seldom performed. 

 How fortunate I was to attend several performances at Washington Opera back in the 80's, in a stunning performance directed by the composer himself, a production mounted in honor of his 80th birthday. Remarkable.

City Opera was fortunate to have Catherine Malfitano and Diana Soviero, as Annina and Carmela; each giving a performance nothing short of amazing. Malfitano, while a bit strained at some moments handles the music skillfully and theatrically . . . well, she is devastating. Soviero, in what can be perceived as a secondary role, turns it into a virtual tour-de-force; caressing each note with tenderness and emotion. As Annina's protective best friend, Soviero seems the one person who best understands Annina's desires. Even when wordless, kneeling beside her friend's chair - Soviero's face radiates an ecstasy that transcends words, mirroring the mystical Annina's faith as she embraces, and welcomes death. We watch her, cradling with love, her friend's lifeless body, suppressing her sobs as she lifts Annina's arm to accept the ring of faith. At this moment, Carmela's situation is more heartbreaking than her friend's death because we identify immediately with her grief. This is great opera. This is great theatre.


So, after this performance, then what?  More Menotti.  After drying my eyes, I put on the Piano Concerto in a sparkling, scintillating performance by Earl Wilde. The Concerto belongs alongside Prokofiev, Barber and Poulenc in wonderful 20th century concerti. With its Scarlatti and Bach like polyphony, it requires both bravura and charm, and would offer a nimble fingered pianist - something unusual and rarely played. And yet, like his operas, the Concerto gets very little recognition.  Lord knows, I'd prefer hearing it once in a while as an alternative to yet another performance of Brahms or Rachmaninoff.

While I also have enormous respect for  . . . and a similar reaction to The Consul, it is easy for me to say that of all Menotti's operas, I find The Saint of Bleecker Street the most deserving of being brought back and could imagine a terrific production somewhere in Lincoln Center.  Even though it was conceived for The Broadway Theatre (where it ran for 92 performances), it's a grand work and deserving of the first rate treatment . . . and an HD performance.  I already have a cast in mind! So let's do it!

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.
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