Prima la musica, poi le parole

Ex libris

Alright. Perhaps I should have known better. The back-cover synopsis for One Dead Diva:

Marc, a 50-ish opera queen with a habit of breaking everything he touches and Paul, a young, ditzy dancer and circuit boy, are an odd pairing as friends. As detectives, however, they are one small step from disaster. Why these two feel the need to investigate the death of Jennifer Burke, a rising opera star (or at least she was rising, until she plunged off the edge of a cliff), is almost a bigger mystery than whether the diva actually was pushed off the cliff. Hot on the trail of clues that lead to all the wrong answers, our energetically inefficient sleuths investigate a sharp-tongued music critic, a way over-the-hill prima donna, and a formidable drag artiste before accidentally stumbling over the truth.

Detective novel. Good. Sopranos. Even better. And set in Sydney, which is a significant kind of city for me these days. Besides which it was free. As a result of all of which, I felt rather compelled to read it. Don't get me wrong, I expected fluff. But, alas, it's unreadable fluff. In primary school I was obliged to write numerous stories in the "imagine you're a ..." mould. These invariably opened with "Hi, I'm ...", followed by a page or two of clumsy and mostly unnecessary exposition, and then perhaps a hurried and barely interesting attempt at a plot. But I was ten. I was allowed to write like that. A novel by a grown-up published author surely shouldn't read like that? Oh but it does. Or at least the 12 pages I've made it through do and I can't take any more. Which is a shame. Plotwise it is appealingly silly already. But I can't endure the dialogue. For instance:

"There's the couch, Paul. The sheets are in the closet."
"What's a closet?"
"I hope you don't mind listening to a couple of Verdi arias before nye-nyes, exquisitely rendered by Tebaldi."

Honestly. But then again, perhaps it's just me. It could be. In which case, the book goes free to a good home.

On the subject of books, however, I discovered the existence of this one yesterday, quite by accident. David Hobson: A Celebration in Words & Pictures. David Hobson, if you didn't know, is an Australian tenor. Scratch that. David Hobson is Australia's Favourite Tenor, as decreed by ABC Classics. I have a measure of respect for that title, for reasons shortly to become clear. Hobson was the first Rodolfo in the famous Baz Luhrmann La bohème. He has an official website, an Amazon So You'd Like To... guide and a fluorescently enthusiastic (though now apparently lapsed) Japanese fan. He features prominently in the classical sections of Australian CD stores (and as you know, I've visited many). I have no reason to doubt that he's a wonderful singer and very nice person, though there's a slight air of Too Much Information (for me) about his website and the Amazon guide. He's Ferrando in the Opera Australia Così I have on DVD, and a respectable one too. Rather thin-voiced but this was early in his career. Before he was Australia's Favourite. The book itself is gorgeously produced. Every singer of talent deserves such a beautiful Celebration With A Capital C.

Which brings me to my point. Just where, exactly, is the Celebration in Words & Pictures  of the Fiordiligi to Hobson's Ferrando? Of the woman ABC Classics packages as Australia's Favourite Soprano? Worthier, more distinguished and at least as photogenic, with a career a good decade longer than Hobson's and a far more impressive CV and discography: not only does she deserve such a tribute, but hers ought to have come first. Ye deities of ABC Classics, hear my cry. Repair your error. Celebrate your "national living treasure" (those aren't my words either) as she deserves to be celebrated. Otherwise I'll have to think that what I (reportedly) said was indeed the truth.

Great Singers on Great Singing

Repeat after me: Jerome Hines is not Gregory Hines. Jerome Hines is not Gregory Hines. Possibly only I have trouble making the distinction. Deep down I know he's not, really I do, but the fact remains that all the time I was reading the book, I pictured Gregory Hines interviewing opera singers. Even now, having seen pictures of Jerome, I still see Gregory. It's very odd, I know, but there it is.

Anyway, that's beside the point. I've just finished reading Great Singers on Great Singing, Jerome Hines' series of 40 interviews with opera singers and a few other experts about vocal technique. I'm not quite sure why. Why I was reading it, that is. After all, it's aimed pretty much solely at actual singers. Yes, there's a glossary in the back, but nevertheless, there's not much fun stuff here for those unversed in the ways of placement, passaggio and projection. And I certainly fall into that category: or at least I did. 40 interviews later and, while I still know next to nothing about the subject, on demand I could probably now supply a handful of definitions- not to mention 40 different opinions of chest voice and the concept of 'open throat' ('the beginning of a yawn' seems to be the consensus on the latter).

It's not a bad read, actually, although I'm not quite sure who I'd recommend it to. Personally, I was fascinated to read about all this technical stuff, but I think many people would rather just listen to the singing. And I'd tend to agree with the warning from Cornell MacNeil: 'This book may be injurious to your vocal health'. I can only imagine what havoc it could wreak in the wrong hands: 40 fabulous voices telling you how they do it, and all saying different things- very dangerous to the impressionable mind, I should think. But I enjoyed myself, and I've certainly emerged with some education. It was nice to read Anna Moffo's interview, the next best thing to hearing her speak (which I never have). Above all though, a phrase stood out from Franco Corelli, who said singing should be approached with "love and seriousness". It's probably even more euphonious in Italian, but still, I think it sums it all up, really.

I do have some issues with the book though, on a mean & petty sort of level, all of which boil down to the fact that Jerome Hines bothers me. I'm sorry, he just does. Perhaps he wasn't as irritating in person as he seems, I don't know. But he's got some very annoying habits. For one, if his transcripts are to be trusted, an irritating tendency to finish other people's sentences. The interviews are loaded with 'I suggested', 'I interjected', 'I interrupted' and so on. He also talks more about himself than he ought, considering he has his own chapter as well. And perhaps worst of all, he seems determined to 'sign off' every interview with some corny little summary of its subject... the greeting-card philosophising gets very old very quickly.

But ignore me. It's a good book and surely the best (and possibly only) of its kind. And authored by the Mel Gibson of the opera world, it would seem. (Tall, handsome and the composer of an opera about the life of Jesus.)

Now listening to: Renée Fleming: 'Ma quando tornerai', Alcina. Georg Frideric Handel. Cond. William Christie.

Who's afraid of Michael Walsh?

Possibly reviewing a book before I've finished reading it is not the best idea. But I'll have finished it by tomorrow, I should think, and once that happens I don't want it occupying any more of my time. The book in question is Who's Afraid of Opera? by Michael Walsh. It purports to be an introduction to opera for people with absolutely zero previous knowledge. I have to say, it does have a few things going for it. The author is (or was in 1994, when he wrote it) Time magazine's longstanding classical music critic (and, for better or worse, the author of The Life and Works of Andrew Lloyd Webber). He writes very well indeed, and obviously knows and loves his subject matter. He's not afraid to show how opinionated he is, or to state unequivocally that some things are qualitatively better than others, both of which I think are excellent qualities. And best of all, when he wrote the book which came before this- Who's Afraid of Classical Music?- he wanted to title it Who's Afraid of Hugo Wolf?

However, there are some serious problems. The most glaring is this: the introduction states quite clearly that this is intended as "a book that presuppose[s] absolutely no knowledge of music on the part of the reader". His italics, by the way, not mine. So why, then, is the book which follows packed with in-jokes and references to opera and other works of classical music? While still teaching the reader how to begin with opera, he's throwing in mentions of Wagnerian arias and Mozart characters. He illustrates a point by saying something like 'Just think of La Bohème', before- given the assumption that his readers no nothing- he's told them what La Bohème is or why it's a good example of whatever he's writing about. Even better, he starts throwing about terms like 'atonality' and 'the twelve-tone system' without ever even hinting at a definition.

It's not just that, either. Having supposedly embarked on an essentially instructive piece of writing, he seems unable to resist the urge to turn instead into a vehicle for the furthering of his own very personal opinions. He doesn't like opera from the bel canto era. Full stop. So he dismisses it in a paragraph or two, with little further explanation than his distaste for the 'rum-tum' orchestrations and doesn't allow a single example into his '(Not Quite) Totally Arbitrary Basic Repertoire'. This is the basic repertoire which is supposed to form the basis of a new opera lover- but apparently all he wishes to create are clones of his own tastes. The other thing he dismisses are Handel's operas: not recommended for beginners, apparently, and best experienced in small doses with score on hand. It's only at the end of the repertoire chapter that he says for the very first time 'of course you're free to form your own opinions', and even then in its in such a way as to leave no doubt in the mind of the novitiate this book is apparently written for as to what those opinions should be.

And there's a second, more eccentric way in which his proselytizing manifests itself. As far as I can tell, he believes in opera as a musical genre and an art form only. He refuses to acknowledge the cultural and social aspects. According to Michael Walsh, if you're a 'vocal nut', if you stay up late 'with other nerds' arguing the relative merits of Renata and Maria, if you rush down the aisle to throw a bouquet at your favourite singer, then you are (and if quote) "not a real opera fan". Because apparently, "it's not really about the singers". On one level he's right: the opera itself exists as it is, regardless of who performs it, and in a sense the singers are just the instrument necessary for expressing what the composer put down on paper. But I think that to believe this is to ignore an immense part of the world of opera. Opera isn't just about a to-the-letter, soulless communication of a score: it's about interpretation, about the different things brought to the music by different people. It isn't just the audio representation of a sheet of music- it's a cultural phenomenon. I believe it's just as valid to love a singer- or a conductor, or a bassoonist, for that matter- as much as a composer or a piece of music.

Obviously, this is all just a matter of opinion, mine versus his. He's absolutely entitled to his opinions: I rather like reading them. He knows what he's talking about and the decisions he's come to are very well informed. As a book presenting a particular and personal approach to opera, this would work beautifully. But the fact is that Who's Afraid of Opera? is packaged as advice and instruction, and while individual tastes shouldn't be excluded, they also shouldn't cause the total exclusion of opposing tastes. Walsh may find the operas of Bellini, Rossini and Donizetti unlistenable, but if this is to be a balanced guide to the genre, he should go some way towards explaining why others do love them. The aim of the book and the writing itself are essentially at crossed purposes- one or the other needs to be sorted out in order to make it a real success. Besides, can there really anybody (other than Germans) who understands the word 'weltanschauung' and yet has hitherto had no encounters with classical music?

In other news: today is a momentous day. I bought today the very first CD in my collection to contain not one single female voice. No sopranos, no mezzos, no contraltos. My very first recital disc by a male opera singer. It's part of my vague New Year's resolutions to widen my operatic horizons. It also only cost $12.95. And it's Jonathan Lemalu! Regardless of the price, it's probably a good idea to start listening properly to male singers with a CD by one I already very much like. In fact, when I saw him sing here with the NZSO, I did think that if I ever decided to buy the solo CD of a male singer, it ought to be his. Of course, I immediately counteracted this groundbreaking move: I also bought Sarah Connolly: Heroes and Heroines. Sarah Connolly, as you may or may not know, is an English mezzo with a flair for Handel (although she's also recorded, of all things, a CD of Schoenberg songs). And when we were in New York, we saw her sing the title role in Xerxes at the City Opera- so of course I had to buy this CD, didn't I? It's Handel arias- Sarah showing off her ability to be both a boy and a girl. I've only heard one track so far but I have a feeling I'm going to love her. Plus she deserves kudos for managing to release a Handel CD without 'Ombra mai fu' on it- even though, given that Xerxes is one of her major roles, she'd have better justification than many for including it. Right now, I'm listening to neither of the above, but rather Renée Fleming: Signatures (Great Opera Scenes). Oh Renée! You're fabulous! Tatiana, Desdemona, the Countess.. oh she's just irresistible. And the Peter Grimes aria. And Dafne. Especially Dafne. I'm going to move straight on to The Beautiful Voice because I need more of this.

By the way, American readers (or particularly assiduous CNN-viewers in NZ)- Susan Graham and Denyce Graves at the Inauguration? How were they?

La Magdalena

Well Magdalena Kožená seems to be quite the mezzo of the moment. First she "scandalised the classical music world" by setting up house with Simon Rattle, married and 18 years her senior. Now she's three months pregnant with their child. It's nice to have some good tabloid style gossip about opera singers for once. But now things are even better because the lovely Magdalena has been named as this year's Gramophone Artist of the Year. And as if that weren't enough, her French Arias and her Songs both won their respective categories too. There's a little bit of argument about it all happening in the forum on her official website but I think Miss Kožená deserves all the honours she can carry. She's fabulous.

I have to admit, the first time I listened to Le belle immagini, her CD of Mozart, Gluck and Myslivecek I was determined not to be impressed: I was not about to admit the possibility that anyone could sing Mozart and Gluck as well as Cecilia. It worked, too- I liked the CD but I had no intention of devoting myself to Magdalena at all. But mezzo-soprano monogamy is never likely to work, there are too many gorgeous singers out there. After spending quite some time triumphing every weekend as Cecilia's Salieri Album ranked higher than Magdalena's French Arias in the Concert FM charts, I eventually succumbed and bought the French Arias CD. And there was the turning point: I fell in love. Magdalena now comes second only to Cecilia as the singer by whom I've bought the most CDs (I have more of Cecilia's CDs in the collection than anybody else's, but I wasn't the one who bought them). And I adore her more every time I hear her. Even singing the same things, Magdalena and Cecilia have such different styles and voices that I find I really can love them both. Even better, though, most of Magdalena's recording doesn't touch Cecilia's repertoire. Her Czech Love Songs CD is addictive and perfect; her Bach Arias rival Kathleen's for sheer beauty. In any case, she must have made an impression on me- I unquestioningly bought her CD of 20th century songs, and there are very few singers I'd do that for. More and more I think Magdalena's is one of the most gorgeous voices I've heard.

And now for something completely different: I've just rediscovered a book in my bookshelf. It's a children's book by Janis Mitchell called The Hamster Opera Company. Yes. Hamsters singing opera. It's gorgeous. She's done a series of illustrations of hamsters singing various scenes from opera, and with each one there's a bit of text about the hamster singers (who have fabulous names like Mercy Crystale and Lina Carpaccia) and about the music. For instance:

"The role of Violetta in Verdi's adaptation of the Dumas play, La Dame aux Camélias, is one of Lina Carpaccia's favourites. Playing a party girl with a heart of gold and a serious case of tuberculosis, she has ideal opportunities to shine as the supreme actress-singer that she is"

or

"The hamster Brünnhilde, Tilly Thunderbar, is certainly ample, but like that great Norwegian soprano Kirsten Flagstad she possesses a resonant, full voice with which she manages to convince her enthusiastic admirers that Wagner's epic of revenge, magic, love and destiny can actually be understood and enjoyed."

Actually, looking back at those quotes I suppose it's not exactly a children's book, or at least not for very small children. I think I got it when I was about 8 or 9, but I also got The Hamster Ballet Company and I always liked that one better (probably because I also loved Angelina Ballerina). I only remembered recently that somewhere in the shelf was a hamster opera book. I shall try and put some scans of the illustrations up soon-ish. They're very cute! Not quite as fabulous perhaps as Susan Herbert's Catropolitan Opera but sweet nonetheless. I do wish that I'd actually gone to the trouble of reading this when I got it: I'd have been rather well educated very early on.

Enough for tonight, or almost. For the first time in a while I have a CD du jour: The Art of Joan Sutherland CD 2: Arias from French Opera. It was secondhand for $10 and comes from a 6 CD set. More significantly it's my very first Joan Sutherland CD ever. In fact, tonight was the first time I've ever actively listened to Joan sing more than one aria in a row. No doubt some out there will be shocked by this gross negligence on my part. Not to worry, I've amended things now- I think she's wonderful. I mean, I already knew that she was, but this CD is brilliant. A few of the arias I knew already: 'Que j'aime les militaires' from La Grande Duchesse de Gérolstein which I've just recently heard Régine Crespin singing; 'Reste au foyer, petit grillon' from Massenet's Cendrillon, which is on Magdalena's French Arias CD and a few others. The rest were new to me. All are flawlessly beautifully sung. There are (many) reviewers who have criticised Dame Joan's diction, her language skills, her emotional engagement, her acting. But there are also many- and often they're the same people- who say who cares? The woman could sing. And I think I might just agree. I don't envision a new life as a Joan Sutherland devotee- far from it- but I am glad finally to have bitten the bullet, bought the CD, and been introduced properly to that lovely lovely voice.

Books

Last night when I should have been reading The Handmaid's Tale for the coming semester, I was reading Opera for Lovers by Kiri Te Kanawa (and a co-author whose name escapes me). It's rather addictive reading, but it's also a little odd. It seems as if perhaps it was done very quickly; as if Kiri sat down and talked for a couple of weeks then went back to being Kiri and they found some photos and made a book. For one thing, it's badly edited- spelling errors, capital letters where there shouldn't be any, that sort of thing. Plus it's written it what for non-fiction comes rather close to a stream of consciousness style. It's organised into chapters, but really it's just Kiri talking about whatever she feels like- and fair enough too, I suppose. The other thing which takes a little getting used to is something I've noticed in interviews with Kiri as well: blunt honesty. In the 50 or so pages I got through, there were already multiple instances of 'I find this passage of [insert Mozart or Strauss opera here] very boring' and 'I refuse to go on stage if...' All of this is absolutely justified of course, it just makes rather a change to have it said outright. But it's not a bad thing at all, and I shall continue reading- a nice complement to Kiri's 'My World Of Opera' which is screening this month on the Arts Channel.

And on the subject of opera books I'm halfway through, I should also mention Nights in the Orchestra by Hector Berlioz. I haven't picked it up for months because I'm an English student and so always seem to be obliged to read something else. But it's wonderfully good fun. The idea is this: the members of an orchestra, bored by whatever opera they're playing each night, tell stories, à la the Canterbury Tales. Most in fact are told by the narrator/Berlioz, including a very funny guide of the 'claque' at the Paris Opera. Highly recommended, if you can get your hands on it- I'd never heard of it until I came across it (in English translation thankfully) in a secondhand bookshop.

CD du jour is Jennifer Larmore's CD of pants roles, Call Me Mister. Orfeo, Cherubino, Siebel, Stephano, Orlofksy and lots more. She's just so good at this stuff.