I used to teach a course in film music a while ago, and one of my great pleasures was teaching Erich Korngold's score for the Errol Flynn adventure story, "The Sea Hawk". Korngold's score is a musical wonder, a kind of opera without voices that runs almost constantly through the movie. His music is truly sophisticated, with some very complex motivic development that follows the characters through the film and with fabulously orchestrated harmonies. Korngold was instrumental in defining the sound of the Hollywood score in the 1930's and 1940's. (Which then fell out of fashion in the 1960's and 1970's, until George Lucas and John Williams revived Korngold's music for Star Wars.)
My other great pleasure in teaching the film music course was in getting to know the music of Bernard Herrmann, who has frequently been called the greatest film music composer ever. His work with Alfred Hitchcock was one of the great filmmaker/composer collaborations of all time, and their "Vertigo" is one of the 20th centuries great music dramas.
So when I saw that Leon Botstein's "The Orchestra Now" was performing music of Herrmann and Korngold in Carnegie Hall, I bought a ticket. They were performing Herrmann's "Psycho Suite" and his symphony, and Korngold's symphony as well.
The music of "Psycho" is famous, of course, for the shower scene music. The suite is an arrangement of cues from the film; it is a series of 2-3-minute movements. The music is wonderful and expressive, but, because of the nature of the sequence of short cues, it doesn't really develop or work very well as concert music. I wanted to somehow refashion it into a continuous stretch of music. And, interestingly, the shower scene music, with its closely-miked harsh glissandi, sounded much blander in person. The symphony was written early in Hermann's career (around 1940), and is in the conventional four movements. The music has the general character of American symphonic music of the time; some of it seems fairly generic, while other moments are very striking. Not a masterpiece, but I've heard a lot worse, and was very happy to hear it. As it was early in Herrmann's career, I didn't really hear any echoes of the very individual style of his later film music.
Korngold wrote his symphony after he had more or less finished with Hollywood, in 1954. Unfortunately, the reception of Korngold's concert music was tarnished by both the fact that he had spent considerable time writing for Hollywood and that his music was rooted in the sound of the early 20th century. He was harshly criticized for both "selling out", and for writing music that was "old-fashioned", a cardinal sin at the time. (I can't help but think that he would be treated much differently nowadays.) I greatly enjoyed the piece, though; Korngold was truly talented composer who happened to be born at the wrong time. (Readers of this blog will know of my normal distaste for anything neoromantic.) In this case, though, the romanticism is the real thing. I think my pleasure in the music also has something to do with my love of the films that featured his music. (I am looking forward to watching the new Blu-ray of "The Sea Wolf", which has one of Korngold's most adventurous scores.)
"The Orchestra Now" is basically a master's degree orchestra at Bard college, and is made up of young musicians who have finished their undergraduate degrees. Their performances were excellent, I thought. Much like the Juilliard Orchestra, this orchestra makes up for its relative lack of experience with both energy and commitment, and most importantly, extended rehearsal time which (I assume) exceeds that of a conventional pick-up orchestra. I can certainly imagine a better performance, but in a era when most professional orchestras play it as safe as possible, playing the same pieces over and over again), it is so exciting to have someone not play the same pieces that are always played. Thank you Leon Botstein!
Saturday, 4 November 2017
Monteverdi and Bach
We went to hear Monteverdi's last two operas, in semi-staged performances at Alice Tully Hall. We heard "Il Ritorno de Ulisse en Patria" and "L'incoronatione di Poppea", both written the 1640's. The performances were conducted by John Eliot Gardiner, with the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists, and were part of a 6 month tour commemorating the 450th anniversary of Monteverdi's birth. Gardiner knows what he is doing; he founded the Monteverdi Choir in the 1960's an undergraduate. The performances were semi-staged and featured quite a large orchestra, with no less than three theorbos (a kind of giant sized lute at least 6 feet long), two harpsichords, two organs, and lots of other instruments.
Both evenings were extraordinary evenings of music drama; both operas are three and a half hours long, and conceived on a very large scale. Gardiner has compared Monteverdi to Shakespeare in his capacity as a dramatist (Shakespeare was from a slightly earlier era), and I think it's a apt comparison. Monteverdi might well be called the inventor of opera, and, as with many pioneers of forms and styles, he did things that in some ways later composers never did better. What struck me most in both operas was the juxtaposition of tragic laments with moments of comic buffoonery. And there were also moments of wonderful ambiguity. In fact, in Poppea, both Nero and his future bride Poppea are pretty despicable characters. Nero at point, when told he must think about his obligations as the leader of the people, says he doesn't care about anything or anyone but himself, and his only desire is to do what pleases himself. (The contemporary parallel was clear.) But the ending of the opera is a triumphal wedding and paean to the love of Nero and Poppea, a wondrous love duet in which the music seduces you into celebrating the love of these two problematic characters. (Imagine, if you will, and this is really stretching the point, a love beautiful love duet between Melania and her husband.)
Another striking thing about the dramas is that the gods (Greek and Roman, respectively) are pretty much in charge of how things go. So while dastardly deeds are contemplated, we are always assured that the gods will see that things turn out OK.
The singers were mostly superb. Nero was a young Korean-American countertenor with a striking voice and a pile of blond hair. And the operas were "semi-staged", which in this case, meant that they were fully acted in a totally convincing way; all that was missing was the sets, which I was happy to do without.
Photos from the web...
The gods intervene to save Poppea from being murdered:
Nero and Poppea:
As I was standing in line for the men's room, I happened to see Alan Gilbert, the former music director of the NY Philharmonic, standing right in front of me. I wanted to say we need him back at the NY Philharmonic, but I left him in peace.
The next day, we went to Montclair State University in New Jersey to hear and see a performance of a new dance work by Pam Tanowitz entitled "New Work for Goldberg Variations". (This involved traipsing through Port Authority Bus Terminal and taking a bus which dropped us off in the middle of New Jersey someplace. There was some reluctance.) The work was conceived for a live performance by the pianist Simone Dinnerstein (she is famous for her rendition of this work) and seven dancers. (The work was actually initiated by Dinnerstein.) Dinnerstein performed at the piano, which was situated at the center of the stage, with the dancers moving around her. The "Goldberg Variations" is an intimidating prospect for both performer and choreographer; an aria and 30 variations, which in this performance lasted 75 minutes without a break. It was a fascinating piece; Tanowitz is very sophisticated in her approach to the music. Again I felt the ghost of Balanchine hovering; Tanowitz knows exactly when to let the music speak for itself, and when the choreography should break away from following the music too closely. You really hear and see two parallel structures in the music and the choreography; They often follow each other closely, but not necessarily synchronously. It's like what Balanchine does when there is a canon in Stravinsky's music. Balanchine will normally not have the dancers dancing in a canon, but maybe 16 bars later, the canon will show up in the dance.
My description may make the dance seem like some abstract formal study; it's not. There are wonderful and very expressive moments in the choreography (just as in Bach's variations). Though I do have to say that a music/dance piece of 75 minutes in length is a bit extreme in its demands on the audience. But my attention rarely flagged. Between Bach's music and Tanowitz's choreography, there was always something interesting. Dinnerstein's performance was good, but she really does a more romanticized version of Bach. The opening aria was as slow and expressively played as possible; it's not really how I like to hear Bach. But all was forgiven in the context of a music/dance work.
I was pleased to see one of my other favorite living choreographers, Mark Morris, in the audience. Though I have no idea if he liked to or not...
Both evenings were extraordinary evenings of music drama; both operas are three and a half hours long, and conceived on a very large scale. Gardiner has compared Monteverdi to Shakespeare in his capacity as a dramatist (Shakespeare was from a slightly earlier era), and I think it's a apt comparison. Monteverdi might well be called the inventor of opera, and, as with many pioneers of forms and styles, he did things that in some ways later composers never did better. What struck me most in both operas was the juxtaposition of tragic laments with moments of comic buffoonery. And there were also moments of wonderful ambiguity. In fact, in Poppea, both Nero and his future bride Poppea are pretty despicable characters. Nero at point, when told he must think about his obligations as the leader of the people, says he doesn't care about anything or anyone but himself, and his only desire is to do what pleases himself. (The contemporary parallel was clear.) But the ending of the opera is a triumphal wedding and paean to the love of Nero and Poppea, a wondrous love duet in which the music seduces you into celebrating the love of these two problematic characters. (Imagine, if you will, and this is really stretching the point, a love beautiful love duet between Melania and her husband.)
Another striking thing about the dramas is that the gods (Greek and Roman, respectively) are pretty much in charge of how things go. So while dastardly deeds are contemplated, we are always assured that the gods will see that things turn out OK.
The singers were mostly superb. Nero was a young Korean-American countertenor with a striking voice and a pile of blond hair. And the operas were "semi-staged", which in this case, meant that they were fully acted in a totally convincing way; all that was missing was the sets, which I was happy to do without.
Photos from the web...
The gods intervene to save Poppea from being murdered:
Nero and Poppea:
As I was standing in line for the men's room, I happened to see Alan Gilbert, the former music director of the NY Philharmonic, standing right in front of me. I wanted to say we need him back at the NY Philharmonic, but I left him in peace.
The next day, we went to Montclair State University in New Jersey to hear and see a performance of a new dance work by Pam Tanowitz entitled "New Work for Goldberg Variations". (This involved traipsing through Port Authority Bus Terminal and taking a bus which dropped us off in the middle of New Jersey someplace. There was some reluctance.) The work was conceived for a live performance by the pianist Simone Dinnerstein (she is famous for her rendition of this work) and seven dancers. (The work was actually initiated by Dinnerstein.) Dinnerstein performed at the piano, which was situated at the center of the stage, with the dancers moving around her. The "Goldberg Variations" is an intimidating prospect for both performer and choreographer; an aria and 30 variations, which in this performance lasted 75 minutes without a break. It was a fascinating piece; Tanowitz is very sophisticated in her approach to the music. Again I felt the ghost of Balanchine hovering; Tanowitz knows exactly when to let the music speak for itself, and when the choreography should break away from following the music too closely. You really hear and see two parallel structures in the music and the choreography; They often follow each other closely, but not necessarily synchronously. It's like what Balanchine does when there is a canon in Stravinsky's music. Balanchine will normally not have the dancers dancing in a canon, but maybe 16 bars later, the canon will show up in the dance.
My description may make the dance seem like some abstract formal study; it's not. There are wonderful and very expressive moments in the choreography (just as in Bach's variations). Though I do have to say that a music/dance piece of 75 minutes in length is a bit extreme in its demands on the audience. But my attention rarely flagged. Between Bach's music and Tanowitz's choreography, there was always something interesting. Dinnerstein's performance was good, but she really does a more romanticized version of Bach. The opening aria was as slow and expressively played as possible; it's not really how I like to hear Bach. But all was forgiven in the context of a music/dance work.
I was pleased to see one of my other favorite living choreographers, Mark Morris, in the audience. Though I have no idea if he liked to or not...
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