Prima la musica, poi le parole

Räntchen

A question for knowledgeable Wagnerians. Could one of you explain to me, please, the origin of the deeply irritating and misleading "woman in horns" image which, along with caricatures of Luciano Pavarotti, seems long to have been the stock illustration — verbal and visual — of opera. Who is she, and who gave her horns?

I mean, I assume she's meant to be Brünnhilde, but as far as I can see, Brünnhilde's helmet has wings, not horns. After all, she's a Valkyrie, not a Viking I stand corrected — an email from somebody who, unlike me, actually knows (a lot) about these things points out that Valkyries are, in fact, Vikings. I guess what I meant was that she's not one a cartoon Viking warrior; anyway, Vikings apparently didn't go about it horned helmets either. Every time I come across an instance of this — especially from a source which ought to know better — I want to scream. The "woman in horns" exemplifies all that apparently drives people away from opera, so why oh why do I see it on products (books, CDs, etc.) apparently designed to draw more people in? Why not a photo of Anna Netrebko in her Salzburg Traviata dress? Maybe not exactly that, but you know what I mean — if you're trying to convince people to abandon their preconceptions, stop perpetuating the damn things. Surprise them. Say yes, this is opera too and it's not nearly so laughable or so disconcerting as that creature in the horns.

I've been troubled by this for a while. Well, forever really. I bring it up today because I've seen a newly published book by Brian Castles-Onion titled Losing the Plot in Opera. A (very) quick flick suggests it may actually be quite readable and not infested with myths and clichés — the first page I opened to at random mentioned Anna Moffo, which is a reasonably good sign — but the cover caused me (and this isn't poetic license — I was unobserved at the time) to stomp my feet like a two year old and seethe. I don't blame Mr Castles-Onion for the cover. I do blame Exisle. Look, I understand that it's a very recognisable image. A large woman in a cheap Viking costume makes people think opera even before they read the title. It doesn't follow, however, that this is a happy state of affairs. Time for a change — it has to start somewhere.

Update: As the above-mentioned email and comments below indicate, the whole question of horns, both on Vikings and on Wagnerian characters, is evidently far more complex (and downright interesting) than I had imagined. Not at all a simple case of black-and-white anachronisms or error. But the other half of this rant remains unclouded; however complex her horns might be, the woman wearing them still ain't a fair or useful representation of the infinite variety of opera.

Lamento

I am a fanatic more sinn'd against than sinning.

Injury the First. Opera Australia — light of my life, apple of my eye, immortal beloved, etc. — has gone and raised its prices on me. Only C-reserve is left untouched, a luxury I indulge in when I think I need to see the whole stage once (Alcina was the only such occasion last season). Premium reserve is up by $12, A-reserve by $7 and B-reserve by $5. That seems to me not such a big deal, because they were already seriously expensive, and if you're willing and able to pay that much then another $12 probably doesn't make too much difference. But the staple of my existence, the best and cheapest food for my addiction, D-reserve, has been raised from $54 to $65. And I know it's only $11, and that that's not exactly a fortune but just the same, it does make a difference. $54 ain't cheap, but it seemed sort of close to it. $65 somehow is a more sizeable investment. Besides, let's face it, the seats were possibly a bit overpriced at $54. They're great for people like me, who want to obsess over the sounds of an Alcina or a Dandini, but objectively speaking, even the best D-reserve seats are not good seats. No surtitles and you won't see the whole stage. Sometimes not a big deal; sometimes quite inconvenient — the first time I saw Suor Angelica, I didn't realise the Virgin Mary had actually appeared on stage, and all the elaborate mirror tricks for Alcina were utterly lost on us in the cheap seats.

Now don't misunderstand me. I know opera is massively expensive and that it has to fund itself. I support to the death its right to do that. But ... I feel a little hurt and mistreated just the same. I love and adore that company, would be happy to spend several (or seven!) nights a week there, and yet their pricing structure makes absolutely zero provision for me to do so. Even the cheapest-of-the-cheap seats, standing room and E-reserve, are $40 and besides which, are out of the question for anybody with a job — you have to be there, in person, at 9am on the morning of the performance. Not going to happen. 

Other organisations offer $30 tickets for under-30s. Whether that's viable or desirable for Opera Australia, I've no idea. I suppose not, or they'd be doing it. All I can say is that if that programme, or something similar, were in place, they would probably end up getting more money per month from me than they do. Meanwhile I may have to start spending less. Oh, who am I kidding. She's a cruel and demanding mistress but I'm hers, and I'll pay her upkeep no matter what. Still, I wish we could find a compromise.

Injury the Second. ABC Classics clearly had a meeting and took the decision to torment me. They've put a CD out called Puccini Romance. Certain aspects of this release are beyond excellent — a disc of pretty Puccini, featuring the drop dead gorgeous Antoinette Halloran. The cover also is beautiful. The selection is, yes, pretty predictable, but I'd listen to Antoinette sing anything. However all is not sunshine, lollipops and rainbows. Antoinette is not alone. She is partnered by one Rosario La Spina. I would pay money not to own a CD by Rosario La Spina. His recent moderate success as Don José notwithstanding, I find him as a rule painfully unlistenable, and never more so than in Puccini. Presumably Antoinette holds him in far higher regard than I do, which is her absolute right. Personally, I think she deserves a far worthier partner. Had she been paired with Aldo di Toro, this CD would already be mine. As it is, I'm not sure I can fork out the cash for a whole CD when all I want is half; fingers crossed for an iTunes release.

Injury the Third. I intended to see my third and final Cenerentola tonight. I bought a ticket for it two weeks ago, from my box office nemesis. Yes, I have one. She has served me several times. Apparently the very act of booking tickets for somebody puts her right on edge, which would suggest she made an odd career choice; and when faced with a person like me, who sometimes has detailed and slightly odd requests, she's downright frantic. Doesn't listen to me, talks over me, points out the wrong seats as being free then speaks to me like I'm an idiot when I ask to reserve those very same seats. So I should have known better than to trust her with the basics of ticket booking, and I should have checked the ticket she'd given me. I didn't. Until this morning, when I discovered it was for January 31st. Great. Rang the box office a few times, nobody answered the phone, but frankly I doubted they'd be willing to do anything for me — who's to say I'm not lying? So no Cenerentola for me. No more of Joshua Bloom's Dandini. It may return, years from now; but by then he will, I suspect and hope, be far too starry and important to return with it.

Balm for the Beleaguered. Mine is a tale of woe. Thankfully, though, I know just the way to heal my wounds. Putting aside my hurt feelings over the price hike, and learning once again to trust the box office, I will take myself to hear beautiful Antoinette — from tomorrow, she takes over as Mimi in Opera Australia's La bohème. Where she leads, I shall follow, and once more be happy and carefree.

Cosi non va bene

 From this article:

"Mozart's melodies set to sampled drum beats and pulsing bass lines"
" Glyndebourne... aims to shed its exclusive image"
"Mozart was young himself and Così's themes, about two young men testing their lovers' fidelity, are constant"
"the main characters will be roadies embarking on a rap tour"
"During the "hiphopera," however, opera-goers can watch graffiti artists and breakdancers."

Do I scream? Do I cry? Do I rant and rave? Do I just plain give up? I might have been indifferent to the 'hiphopera' concept on its own. But at Glyndebourne, in whom I trusted? And Mozart? You do this to Mozart?

I see no merit in this monstrosity. None.

And that's about all I'll say, I think. It might have to be, because in any case I don't even know what to call this... creature. Clearly it doesn't deserve to called Così fan tutte - that title belongs to a thing of beauty, not to this pile of [see Sieglinde]. On the other hand, though, I shall not defile my fingers, keyboard and blog by using the creature's nauseating provisional title.

Roll on September, when ACD (as if I wasn't missing him enough already) shall presumably return and - I hope - provide all the sounds, fury and well deserved venom which, in the interest of  my own well-being, won't be expressed here.

Subtitling gone mad

A Grrrr from ACD in support of a very interesting post from the excellent Jessica Duchen has got me thinking. From Jessica's post:

"I switched on the First Night in some excitement this evening, looking forward to seeing the lovely Janine Jansen playing my favourite violin concerto - Mendelssohn ... And what do we see? A purple strap along the bottom third of the picture, carrying little titbits of info and commentary on the music a la Wimbledon."

Oh dear. This is worrying. I read the post, and the varied reactions to it - some heartily in agreement, some scolding Jessica for discouraging accessibility, new audiences, etc. and for a moment I was unsure exactly I did feel about the whole issue. After all, the information itself might well be fascinating and yes, even aid enjoyment. But the obvious struck me pretty quickly: the information itself and the way it's received are two very very different things - and when I imagined myself turning on a concert and finding such a running commentary, I realised me reaction would in fact be just as vehement. No, no, no.

As I say, it's not the information itself which is an issue. I know from my own experience that I rather like knowing something about that side of things from time to time. But do I want it told to me while I'm listening to the piece. Good lord, no! Read it or otherwise learn it beforehand, or afterwards, sure but during? No. Take La Bohème for instance. When I listened to the Met broadcast, there was some fascinating stuff in the interval about the cleverness happening in the orchestra pit while Mimi dies. And when we afterwards reached that scene, I could hear it, and I liked that. But imagine if that same woman (I forget her name) had appeared on stage at the same time, and told the audience then and there "Listen! Can you hear what the orchestra's doing? Isn't that great?" Subtitles on an TV broadcast of a concert aren't as obtrusive as that, I know, but still - when there's music playing, listen. Do the other things at some other time.

Comparisons with opera surtitles are flawed, I feel. Surtitles don't elaborate or explain anything, they merely translate, more or less literally. Their equivalent in an orchestral concert would, I think, be following a score in your lap. Good surtitles won't try and direct your personal experience of an opera, either - these subtitles would seem to be attempting just that, tell you how you ought to listen to a piece, as if that was anybody's business but your own. Imagine watching King Lear, for instance, with subtitles pointing out, say, that the storm outside mirrors Lear's inner turmoil - it would be unbearable. You may well find that the information in such subtitles is exactly what does help you enjoy a piece of music but you might just as easily feel the opposite. There are a dozen ways you can find and absorb that information (even these same subtitles might work nicely for some, if they were on a DVD, or otherwise turn-off-able) but the decision should be yours, not a TV executive's. Anything else is just oppressive and, I should think, unbelievably irritating.

State of the (operatic) nation

Usually I try not to think about the plight or otherwise of opera in New Zealand, mostly because it just upsets me. But there was a feature about just that on TV One's arts show Frontseat last night, followed by a sort of group activity: two groups each given twenty minutes to come up with a 'concept' which would help increase the audience for opera in New Zealand. They've drawn on the groups' ideas for this week's feedback question. As I say, usually I would just change the channel and the subject, but this time I thought, to hell with it, I'll respond. Which I have. Probably rather too copiously for their purposes; but there are no word limits here in the blogosphere, so for better or worse, I give you the Frontseat feedback question and the letter I've just emailed off in response.

This week's question: Which of these touring concepts would attract an audience? 'Opera on speed' - a selection of opera's greatest hits or 'Our Stories' NZ composers and singers doing orginal pieces related to NZ literature?

My response:

I think it's very likely that both these touring concepts would attract a reasonable audience, in great simply because they ARE 'touring' concepts. When an professional arts event hits a town which otherwise doesn't get to see much opera, ballet, orchestral music etc. at that level, it's got a very good chance of selling well, because it's a rare opportunity and a novelty. But whether either of these would serve the purpose they're designed for - appreciably increasing the audience for opera in New Zealand generally - is another question entirely. 

The 'Opera On Speed' concept has its attractions, but as it stands ('opera's greatest hits') I don't know that it would achieve a great deal. As Margaret Medlyn said on the show, people like the tunes they know. But if knowing and liking these tunes hasn't already intrigued them enough to bring them along to see the whole show, why would a touring concert of such excerpts change that? I also think there can be a danger in the 'greatest hits' approach. It might be a more immediately appealing way to package opera, but in the end it's not REALLY opera, is it? Ms Medlyn did also suggest combining the familiar and the not so familiar, and I think she's right. If all you've seen and heard is strings of Italian arias, what on earth will you make of Salomé or Lulu? And take 'Nessun dorma', for instance, perhaps the most widely recognized aria out there, but one which in the context of the opera it comes from is something wildly different from the way it's done by Andrea Bocelli or the Three Tenors. A touring concert could be an excellent idea but it ought to reflect the reality of the operatic experience at its best, not lull a doubting audience into a false sense of security. We should have faith in New Zealand audiences to appreciate more about opera than just familiar Italian tunes.

In many ways the 'Our Stories' idea gets a little closer to what I'm on about. It's complete opera, and it balances the familiar (New Zealand stories) with the challenging (modern opera). But at the same time I think it faces a similar problem to 'Opera On Speed', and that's the degree to which it reflects opera as a whole. One of the best things about opera is its incredibly international nature: works in French, German, Italian, Spanish, Czech and Russian can all move and excite audiences around the planet, because what they all rely on ultimately is music and not nationality. New Zealand-oriented operas are a fabulous idea, and the more the better, but they're still only one facet of a glorious world of variety. If we're going to tour a trio of new operas, why not throw in one from Japan, or Finland, or Brazil? Kate Mead made the point that another take on something like Traviata or Cenerentola isn't likely to be of much interest internationally - the world surely would be more interested in operas which represent New Zealand. If this is true - and I can't help but think that moving something old and familiar into a recognisably New Zealand setting could, if done well, be absolutely fascinating - then surely New Zealand must, by the same token, take a look at the operas which represent other countries. I understand the wish to make opera as 'relevant' as possible but I'd like to think that this doesn't depends on a wealth of things more significant than plain geography.

I guess what's needed is the best of both worlds: an appealing, marketable concept which nevertheless can replace the old clichés of immense horned women and lovestricken Italian tenors with what lovers of opera know to be the truth: a wonderful world of music and drama which is too multi-faceted, and so much an individual experience, that it can't be reduced to a stereotype. Everyone who loves opera loves different works, and different things about the art form: if a touring concept is going to bring in new audiences, it needs to come as close as it can to introducing its audience to THAT kind of world.

Elisabeth Schwarzkopf & Irmgard Seefried

Elisabeth Schwarzkopf & Irmgard Seefried: Duos pour soprano
It's at least a month since I bought this and tonight was its first time in the CD player. Why? I don't exactly know. And now that I've heard it... I really don't know. When it finished I just pushed play again. This is just sinfully beautiful singing.

I'll be honest: the tracklist didn't really grab me when I saw this in the shop- I bought it because of the gorgeous cover picture. After all, a pair of German sopranos singing Monteverdi and Carissimi in 1947, with piano accompaniment? That's what the first eight tracks are and yes, it's a little odd. I mean, I wouldn't have recognised it as Monteverdi if it hadn't said so on the CD case- everything about this is different from the way this kind of music is sung now. And it just proves how silly the obsession with authenticity to the exclusion of all else is, because if you insisted on period instruments, period singing, etc. then you'd miss out on something very special here. Then things get even better: Dvorak's Moravian Duets. 'Suse liebe Suse...Brüderchen, komm tanz mit mir' from Hänsel und Gretel. And as if all this wasn't banquet enough: 'Mir ist die Ehre widerfahren'. How exactly am I supposed to cope with all of this?

This truly is unlike anything I've ever heard before. The best I expected from it was the wonderful feeling that comes from hearing two sopranos sing together- the sort of thrill I get from 'Sull'aria' or 'Via resta servita'. But this is something else. You can hear that these women aren't just singing at the same time, for an audience: they're singing with and to each other. Add the piano accompaniment and you've got something so intimate you almost feel you shouldn't be listening. But, thank god, we do get to listen. And this is where I'll stop, because for once it's neither laziness nor hyperbole when I say I am at a loss for words.

To return to planet Earth now, though, I have a little bit of spleen which wants venting. Namely, the introduction of Angela Gheorghiu's official website. You might know this already, but if you don't: if you go to www.gheorghiu.com, do you know what the first words you see are? 'The world's greatest living soprano.' I beg your pardon? The world's greatest living soprano? What in the world are they talking about? 'Greatest currently singing soprano' would be a difficult enough claim to make. But, just off the top of my head, the list of sopranos who to my knowledge are still alive and kicking includes Kiri Te Kanawa, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, Anna Moffo, Mirella Freni, Beverly Sills, Joan Sutherland, Montserrat Caballé and until very recently it also included RENATA TEBALDI. And we're supposed to ignore all them and agree that Angela Gheorghiu is the world's greatest living soprano. I realise it's just marketing but really.

Concert FM

I'll admit there are some very good things about Concert FM. They play a lot of interesting music, old standards beside new works, and they appear to have a healthy dislike of the 'classical music=soothing' assumption which can ruin things. And even better, from this weekend, the Sunday operas for the next 22 weeks are all to be selected from the current Met season. We're beginning with a Vepri siciliani, and they're going to broadcast (Renée devotees sart holding your breath now) the Rodelinda at some point too. So at this moment Concert FM is my friend. Sort of. There's still one big problem I have: the announcers.

I'm sure it can't just be me. Surely in other countries there are classical radio announcers who know what they're talking about? I would have thought that knowledge of the genre would at least be a little helpful. Not to say that they're totally ignorant, I don't want to accuse them of that. But on the other hand, they don't appear to know a whole lot- or particularly to care. Some are worse than others, but what almost all are guilty of is reading their script in such a way as makes it pretty obvious they don't know what they're saying. I've heard one of them introduce a string quartet with a little blurb about the structure of the piece and he could have been reading in Esperanto for all the sense it seemed to make to him. There are times when announcers read out in much the way I did in third form German: you know how the words sound but you've got not a clue what you're saying. Except they don't always know how the words sound. Now, I don't expect classical music radio announcers to go off and learn a dozen languages in order to pronounce people's names correctly; but on the other hand, I do expect people whose profession consists in such great part in reading words from foreign language to have some grounding in correct pronunciation. There are even guides out there on the internet with words spelt out sound by sound: I really wouldn't have thought it was that difficult. But apparently it is. They guess their way through their languages, seemingly believing that a generic quasi-European accent, coupled with English pronunciation, will suffice. It doesn't. Admittedly for the most part you know what they're saying, but sometimes the garbled mess that comes out truly is unintelligible. And even if they do manage to scrape through in the big three (French, German, Italian), things like Russian or Czech are generally given up on entirely- they just start at the first letter and make noise until they hit the last one.

(Edit: paragraph of somewhat unnecessary mean-spiritedness removed. Yes, it's censorship, but at least it's self-censorship.)

But the languages thing is, in part at least, just my own pet hate. There is a bigger problem. Mindless interviews. The others are guilty of this too. Thankfully, the station plays a lot of overseas programmes, where we can hear people from the States or Canada or the UK having intelligent conversations with composers and performers. Here though, it's a different story. And I'm sorry to say, it's Ms Wilson once again. I'm left speechless by her apparenty inability to process information, and can only put it down to the fact that she doesn't speak the same (musical) language as her subjects. It seems that every time I happen upon one of her interviews, she's having to be corrected by the subject themselves after misunderstanding the answers: taking for instance, a choir director's mention of the 'darker' tonal colour of European choirs as meaning that New Zealand choirs sang better and more clearly. Apparently there's no difference between sounds except 'good' and 'bad'. And I also remember her talking to a conductor who more or less had to conduct the interview himself, avoiding or ignoring her mindless questions in order to talk about interesting things; the woman had a chance to talk to an opera conductor about opera, and all she could manage was 'are New Zealanders as good at it as everyone else?' and stereotypical ideas about singers' egos. The conductor (I'm very sad to have forgotten his name, he was fascinating) clearly went totally over her head with his comment that 'difficult' singers were the best to work with "because they're perfectionists". I shouldn't target Charlotte exclusively though- I also remember one of the men talking to a couple of the sopranos from the Cosi which was on last year, apparently with very little knowledge of either that opera or opera singing in general: mostly they spoke and he said 'Mmm' and 'Yah'.

It shouldn't have to be like this. Wayne Mowat on National Radio hosts wonderful decade-based popular music shows and he really does know his stuff- or if he doesn't, he's gone and found out about it. That's the problem I think: the Concert FM announcers just seems to take the script they're given, read it, and leave it at that. I don't want to sound too evil about all this: after all, I do very much like this station, generally speaking, and (although personally I'd like lots more singing) their programming is for the most part intelligent and well-chosen. And these Met broadcasts coming up- which I'm accepting as the closest we'll ever come to just having the Met weekend broadcast on the radio live, like other countries- a certainly a welcome gift. I just hope like nothing on earth that they'll retain the between-acts commentary from the broadcast, and not replace it with more banalities. We shall just have to wait and see. In the meantime, if I have the energy, I'm going to experiment with some overseas classical radio stations online: see if the problem is more widespread than I thought.

But enough venom. I've been listening to Anna Moffo sing the Habanera from Carmen. My oh my oh my. Gorgeous and beautiful in fan-yourself kind of way. No wonder Don José got hooked... I'm surprised he didn't just die on the spot. Then again, the Don José in Anna's Carmen is Franco Corelli, so I don't suppose he does too badly in the swoon-inducing stakes either. It's frightening how good this woman sounds. How do I come only to own one solo CD of my favourite soprano- and that a slightly unusual one, Canteloube and Villa-Lobos? I need the 'Arias'. I need her Mozart CD. I need the one called 'Recital'. And I need them now. What a woman.