Beethoven shown in 1803, not long before the Eroica appeared
Tonight I heard Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra and Chamber Choir venture boldly into the 19th century, sounding very much like they belong there. The program on this occasion consisted of Beethoven’s “Eroica” and Mendelssohn’s “Italian“ Symphonies, two prototypically romantic works offered in historically informed performance (let’s call it “HIP”).
Notwithstanding the excellence of their H.I.P., perhaps “bold” is an unfortunate adjective to use. I purchased my first HIP set of Beethoven symphonies in the late 1980s, as well as symphonic recordings of Berlioz, Mendelssohn, Schubert, Schumann. Since then conductors have employed authentic instrumentation in performances of such late-romantic composers as Wagner, Verdi, Smetana and Brahms. I have to wonder, Tafelmusik: what took you so long? You’re a brilliant ensemble, why not more romantic music?
Perhaps it’s because they understand themselves as a baroque orchestra, both in terms of their training and the audience who have been coming to support them for so long. Perhaps it’s humility and scholarly care, making them cautious. It’s hard to argue with the results, when the orchestra seems to be successful, prosperous, and gradually enlarging its repertoire, to venture more and more past 1800.
Meanwhile I am bouncing up and down anticipating Opera Atelier’s Der Freischütz next season, to be played by Tafelmusik & conducted by David Fallis, the first HIP Freischütz in North America. While I am delighted to see that Tafelmusik will program another romantic concert next season (Beethoven and Chopin), obviously I’m impatient for even more: how about Schumann, Schubert, and Berlioz?
Conductor and scholar Bruno Weil
In the Tafelmusic program notes conductor Bruno Weil was asked “Is there repertoire that you have not yet done with period orchestras that you would like to do in the futurem” to which he replied “Yes. Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis and Grosse Fuge, Wagner’s Lohengrin, and the Blue Danube Waltz.”
In the meantime, Bruno Weil conducted stirring performances of the Mendelssohn & Beethoven works in Toronto this week. The “Italian” Symphony that opened the program mostly moved faster than the modern orchestra versions we’re accustomed to hearing. Weil had a careful handle on the meter, without the broad tempi variations one might have encountered in the interpretations of an ensemble such as the Toronto Symphony. Many times in the first movement I saw big smiles playing across Weil’s face, at times returned by a beaming Jeanne Lamon as the principal violinist and Music Director. In the recapitulation of the first movement, the second subject’s statement sings out powerfully from cellos and violas, a richness of tone one simply can’t get from a modern orchestra. From what I understand, it’s harder to play the instruments in tune, but you’d never know it hearing Tafelmusik, whether in the moody second movement, the long luscious lines of the tuneful third movement, or the frenetic energy of the Saltarello that closes the work.
Strong as the Mendelssohn was, I was especially focused on hearing Beethoven’s “Eroica”, the work awaiting us after intermission, and Tafelmusik didn’t disappoint. What we heard was a perfect reflection of something Weil said in the program: “One should approach the “Eroica” pretending you do not know the Fourth through Ninth Symphonies yet.” Weil did not over-emphasize discords or extreme dynamic contrasts, simply letting the work unfold. The second movement was perhaps the biggest contrast to older versions with modern orchestras (usually much slower), yet did not lack for grandeur or gravitas. The third movement flew by with quicksilver clarity, interrupted by a masterful horn trio. Finally the last movement brought us to a joyful conclusion, the orchestra often flashing smiles throughout.
So forgive me if I am completely out of touch with Tafelmusik and their community of support, who may look upon the occasional Mozart & Beethoven on the program as a fun departure from the usual baroque excellence. I want to hear Tafelmusik undertake Berlioz, Schubert, Schumann and more, because it’s clear to me that they’re up to it. They may be the best orchestra in Toronto, and should feel empowered to progam absolutely anything.
Alcina by Essential Opera was my second consecutive night of Händel, following my second viewing of the Canadian Opera Company’s unorthodox production of Semele. I hope I can be forgiven for making comparisons, but I think it’s relevant given that Toronto Händel lovers will have seen the COC’s show (with or without the umlaut). Unlike Semele, no Händel lover would have walked out of Essential Opera’s Alcina, which didn’t employ any puppets or dancing horses, just singers & musicians. Alcina was a much more respectful treatment even though it was only semi-staged.
Where the COC employed a modern orchestra, Essential Opera engaged a chamber ensemble consisting of two violins, two oboes, viola, cello & harpsichord, often deployed solely as cello (the exquisitely tuneful Laura Jones) + keys (the reliable Lysiane Boulva).
Notwithstanding the friendly acoustic of the Four Seasons Centre, that space was a yawning cavern in comparison to the friendly confines of the Trinity St Paul’s Centre, a haven for these voices
Both productions were in quasi-sacred spaces, Semele staged on a 450 year old Buddhist temple re-assembled on the Four Seasons Centre stage, Alcina in the Trinity St Paul’s sanctuary. This is curiously apt, when we remember that Alcina concerns magic. Music is a church’s ultimate magic trick, at least temporarily converting atheists into believers, uniting believer and non-believer in its passionate tsunami.
Both productions embraced da capo elaborations: the jazzy creativity on the repeated verse of baroque arias.
[added saturday…something i was too tired to articulate last night] And both operas are preoccupied with one of the fundamental issues in drama, namely the reconciliation of illusion and reality. As such, both operas can comfortably be presented without any sort of verisimilitude, and indeed invite imaginary engagement. Whether one goes off on the tangents of the COC Semele or one presents Alcina in Essential Opera’s semi-staged format, the audience is happily inspired by good musical performance to imagine almost anything.
Contralto and music director Vicki St Pierre
Unfortunately there’s only the one night of Alcina, which offered many noteworthy portrayals. Vicki St Pierre, listed as the music director, displayed exemplary musicianship as Bradamante, the orchestra following her as assiduously as if she were the conductor: as the title “music director” would imply. St Pierre was so solidly positioned inside every phrase she sang, so comfortable whether opening her mouth to sing or simply underplaying her reactions to the odd situations, that she effortlessly added ironic twists & witty expressions on top of wonderful intonation & clear coloratura.
Erin Bardua as the title role had a much tougher path, given that Alcina gets none of the humour nor much audience sympathy. As a villainess Bardua created a powerful presence, showing us several different types of voice throughout. I was especially impressed with the delicacy of her reading in those moments when her power begins to slip, as in “Ombre pallide” in Act II and “Mi restano le lagrime” in Act III.
Soprano Maureen Batt gave us a Morgana blending comedy and poignancy, sung with tenderness and a vulnerability well-suited to the intimate space. Julie Ludwig in the small part of Oberto said what everyone wanted to say in her brief aria denouncing Alcina, with an especially passionate explosion in the da capo verse.
Opera Atelier veteran Vilma Vitols was convincing as Ruggiero, in what I think of as the hardest role in the opera. A good Ruggiero is like a special effect, making us believe in Alcina’s magic: which is exactly what Vitols accomplished.
As if Batt & Bardua weren’t busy enough, they also operate, program & manage Essential Opera: which might explain why they chose an opera with two wonderful roles for themselves. The only two male roles in the opera, sung by baritone James Levesque (Melisso) and Cory Knight( Oronte), nicely balance the predominantly female blend of voices.
We’ll have to wait to see what Essential Opera produces next season, but so far –recalling their earlier production of Massenet’s Chérubin—there’s reason to be eager to hear their announcements.
I had another chance to see & hear and even smell Zhang Huan’s production of Semele at the Canadian Opera Company.
Installation artist & director Zhang Huan
Yes, Semele also smells good (and I’m not just saying that to make a feeble joke). Before the curtain went up, I noticed that the air in Four Seasons Centre was distinctly different. I am sure the singers noticed the extra oxygen produced by the living verdure. It took me back to something Pina Bausch brought to Toronto back in the 1980s (sorry I can’t recall the title but do remember the visceral sensation: which came back to me tonight), where the entire stage was covered in greenery, and the whole theatre smelled wonderfully alive. Ditto tonight, especially for those of us in the first few rows.
I didn’t notice it the first time I saw this production because I was seated further back and distracted. As you may have heard, there’s a great deal going on in Zhang’s Semele, even though a lot of what composer Handel and librettist Congreve might have written is missing. If that’s your deal-breaker –that is, you somehow show up expecting , nay demanding to see x, y and z, and the COC failed to deliver—I have no sympathy. While Zhang’s Semele is not to be mistaken for a traditional production, it is the wisest and deepest production that I saw from the COC all season.
That the audience –led by the sadly negative Toronto press—failed to embrace this production shouldn’t be surprising even if it really bothers me. Toronto audiences have previously taken a few oddities to heart per season, although maybe this one is a tougher sell.
I am perplexed by audience dynamics these days. I sat in the Lincoln Centre audience for two of the four Ring operas directed by Robert Lepage & his Ex Machina team. Not only was I entranced (as I had been for the High Definition broadcasts), but in person the magic was considerably greater, with a carnivalesque quality that simply can’t be captured for a broadcast. The negative buzz in social media killed it for many in the audience, even though most of us went nuts at the end of each show. I was quoted in Macleans possibly because everyone else is lining up to kick Lepage in the butt while I am still as innocent as a little child in the presence of his Ring.
It was the same with Semele. It’s full of hijinks and silliness, yet even so has many serious moments; and unfortunately people sometimes hesitate to embrace something when they’re unsure of themselves. This is truly an intercultural opera production (Tibetan singer, Sumo wrestlers, costumes reminiscent of many places & peoples) , but why shouldn’t it be when the opera (oratorio actually) is itself so intercultural? Semele comes from a Greek myth adapted into a libretto by an Englishman, with music by an expat German. (we needn’t address Handel’s Italian influences). Speaking of odours, I think it stinks to act like a purist, turning one’s nose up at an eclectic treatment of this work.
I want to briefly address a couple of things I didn’t cover concerning on my earlier night.
The ending strips off the joyous chorus & the consolation offered in the plot’s denouement (Bacchus reported born from Semele’s ashes), ending on a sadder note, followed by an unaccompanied chorus humming the Internationale. Finally we see again the figures associated with the temple that is more like an installation than a set, the reminder of the impermanence of life to mirror the outcome of the opera. Why the Internationale? It makes sense to me both as a reflection of this production’s cross-cultural ambitions (recalling that it was funded first in Europe, then taken to China, and now comes to Canada), an anthem to the unity of people everywhere. That the COC plays the final chorus on the PA system after the sombre ending allowed us to have our cake & eat it too. Zhang’s version reminded me of the original Prague version of Don Giovanni, before the epilogue was added. Perhaps at this one moment Zhang felt we’d had enough comedy, although I don’t begrudge the powers that be for adding a little something to juice up the lobby.
While my review of the earlier performance did properly genuflect in the direction of the two fabulous leads, the women who carry this Semele, namely Jane Archibald in the title role (to whom I had the extra thrill of hollering a “thank you” out of my car window a dozen blocks away from the theatre… she flashed a smile in return, sigh blush) and Allyson McHardy as her gleeful nemesis Juno in two stunning portrayals full of wit, energy and glorious singing (whoops, three counting her alter-ago Ino), I didn’t properly acknowledge the rest of the cast, whom I simply waved at by calling it the strongest cast from the COC all year.
Steven Humes sang the dual roles of Cadmus and Somnus, the deepest voice I’ve yet heard in this theatre; I believe Humes hit a B below the low C in his sleepy aria as Somnus (wow). Humes presence was wonderfully strong as Cadmus, whereas he was an entirely different figure as the sleepy god.
Anthony Ross Constanzo was a strong Athamas, seizing the comic opportunities in his big first scene and thereby setting the tone for much of what was to follow.
I was quite delighted by William Burden’s Jupiter, sung with a gentle lilting voice that seemed wonderfully apt precisely because it was not the usual operatic sound, but instead a light and agile sound perfect for oratorio. Burden had a wonderfully deft touch for coloratura. Of all the various aspects of Zhang’s production Jupiter is perhaps the most realistic of all, and in the opportunities given, Burden never failed to resemble someone magical.
Katherine Whyte sang a sparkling Iris, bouncing around Allyson McHardy’s Juno, bravely helping her in so many comical moments that alas didn’t get more than a couple of us laughing (although I guffawed in a few places).
Sigh, the COC season’s almost over. Friday night is the last of the Zemlinsky/Puccini double bill, then Saturday means one final Semele, all at the Four Seasons Centre.
Today I finally closed the circle on Beethoven’s sonatas. I’d played thirty-one of his thirty-two in a sequence following the first two posts I made, after hearing about Stewart Goodyear’s Beethoven Marathon.
For what it’s worth, here’s how I did it.
March 29th I posted about playing sonatas 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6
The weekend of March 31st – April 1st (posting about the Air Canada Centre), played sonatas 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 on Friday – Saturday, then paused before undertaking 14 (aka the “Moonlight” sonata), and 15 (“Pastorale”) Sunday afternoon.
April 20th I played the sequence of sonatas from #28-32 inclusive, writing about it a bit later.
That weekend I continued backwards, playing 27, then 26, then 25, then 24, then 23 and then stopped with 22, realizing how I would now finish the cycle.
Sometime over the next week I sat down to play all the remaining sonatas save one: I played sonata #1 (I’d almost forgot…), then tracked forward from sonata 16, including 17 (“The Tempest”), 18, 19 and 20. It seemed a perfect place to stop, given that 19 & 20 are surely the two easiest sonatas, while 21 is one of the hardest: and the only one left. It was still April.
Today –May 21st, the holiday in Canada known as “Victoria Day” and an occasion for fireworks –after some exhausting yard work this afternoon, mostly consisting of mindless lifting & lugging, I came inside, grabbed a glass of water, and decided it was time to finish the cycle once and for all.
This isn’t to be confused with Goodyear’s Marathon, but even so, I found it quite intriguing to survey the entire cycle, a magnificent body of music. I think one sees different patterns as a player than as a listener, just as one reads Shakespeare differently as a critic or a historian than as a thespian or a set designer. Sometimes the pieces are almost an athletic challenge, especially in the gargantuan Hammerklavier Sonata op 106. Other times the music is refined, as though the big Beethoven of the massive sonatas (Waldstein, Appassionata & Hammerklavier), having vented, decides to speak more softly. Each of these sonatas is its own world, with moments of extroversion and whispered confidences, sometimes sung by a soloist (as in the first variation of Op 109), sometimes by a deft chamber ensemble (as in those wonderful early scherzi such as Op 2 #3), sometimes by a full orchestra as in the first movement of Op 106 or the triumphant last movement of op 101.
At times I am listening to the music while playing it, wondering how well Beethoven was able to hear when composing. Sometimes I feel certain his composition is conditioned by his hearing or lack thereof. The opening of Symphony #9, for example, with its sense of order emerging from out of chaos suggests very strongly to me the struggle to hear, the desperate need to resolve the edge of a theme out of something fuzzy and indistinct.
But that late heroic Beethoven is one of several. We meet the Mozartean Beethoven of that first sonata, already tossing discords at us as a way of creating conflict in a sonata movement. In the first sonatas I frequently prefer the singing (or dancing) inner movements. There are the slow and soulful songs to be found searching for meaning in each of sonata 3, 4, 5, 7 and the famous tune in #8. And there are the delightful scherzi in these sonatas, particularly the break-neck possibilities of #3, suggestive of slapstick comedy. Or there’s the romantic tale told in #4, still just about my favourite of all Beethoven’s movements. Listen to what a stunner this is, in Anton Kuerti’s hands (and note, it’s not difficult to play, as all that fast stuff is completely under the hand).
For my money, sonata #3 is the first complete meal, four fabulous movements each better than the last. Perhaps it’s heresy to say so (especially when there are so many excellent sonatas), but I believe something about this key raises Beethoven’s blood pressure. He will be similarly aroused in two of the best early outer movements, namely sonata #8 in C minor. Did C (major or minor) matter to Beethoven? It’s the key of the Leonora Overture, the Fifth Symphony outer movements and the funeral march in the Eroica (which I am happily anticipating this week from Tafelmusik). The late Beethoven comes back to this key for the Diabelli Variations, a fabulous series of miniatures.
I was struck by parallels between two powerful sonatas in C, namely #21 & #32. Both sonatas are built out of contrasts:
#21 uses a brief meditative intermezzo to divide two very different movements; #32 bravely works with two contrasting movements (although this is not the only such sonata).
The opening movement for each sonata bravely embraces the percussive possibilities of the instrument. The closing movement is more lyrical.
Today as I sat with tired arms (glad to be inside, because it was too warm outside), facing the powerful opening of the Waldstein, I was struck yet again at something I observed previously on the night I played sonatas 28-32. that the longer I played the better I felt. No, I didn’t play it perfectly. But it’s quite an amazing piece of music, a fitting place to close the circle that embraces the potential found in the early sonatas and the towering brilliance of the last handful. Opus 53 falls just before the Eroica, in the same remarkable period with the Appassionata sonata and the 4th Piano Concerto.
Goodyear has had a curious effect on me. While I am humbled by the virtuosity of his reading of Op 106, I am inspired to play Beethoven more often. It doesn’t bother me that I can’t play it as well as Goodyear. So what? I need to hear this music more often, to feel it emerge around me as it’s played rather than just encounter it in a recording or a live performance. It makes me feel better, makes me not just a better pianist but perhaps a better person.
I have to think that playing Beethoven makes Goodyear feel better too.
A singer deemed “Superb” by the Los Angeles Times, praised by Opera Canada for her “vivacious stage presence” and “soprano that charms and brightens a room”, the grateful recipient of Opera Hamilton’s Sheila Zack Scholarship for Emerging Artists, Mireille Asselin is a young singer at the onset of an exciting career.
Mireille Asselin with Warren Christie: Magic Flute Diaries
Having taken the title role in Handel’s Theodora with the Bach Collegium San Diego under the baton of Maestro Richard Egarr; Susanna (Le Nozze di Figaro) and Rossignol (Stravinsky’s Le Rossignol) with Yale Opera; and Adele (Die Fledermaus) with Opera Hamilton, last year Opera Atelier introduced Asselin to Toronto audiences as Galatea (Acis and Galatea) and Servilia (La Clemenza di Tito). Asselin made her feature film debut as Pamina in Sullivan Entertainment’s Magic Flute Diaries, released in 2007 when she was only twenty-one. In April 2011 she made her Carnegie Hall debut singing Vaughan Williams’ Dona Nobis Pacem with the Yale Symphony, and returned to Carnegie this January in recital with the Song Continues series.
This year Asselin will sing Beethoven’s 9th Symphony with the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra; Proserpine & La déesse Flore with Boston Early Music in their double bill of Charpentier’s La Descente d’Orfée aux enfers & La Couronne de Fleurs; Popera with Opera Hamilton; and Phénice & Lucinde in Lully’s Armide at Glimmerglass this summer.
I ask Asselin ten questions: five about herself and five about her upcoming work with the COC ensemble in Semele.
1) Which of your parents do you resemble (what’s your nationality / ethnic background)?
Mireille Asselin and proud father, at her Yale graduation.
I would say that I most resemble my father. Ever since I was born, people would remark on our identical wavy and unruly dark hair, dark eyes and round french face. He’s french canadian through and through, with the first of the Asselin family coming over to New France in the mid-17th century. However, my maternal family would probably make a case for some of the features that I inherited from them as well. My mother is American, with links back to Sweden, Ireland and Wales. In fact, we went to Wales to meet some of our family there in 2002 and they swore I was the template of a dark haired, fair skinned “little Welsh girl”.
My physical features aside, I take after my father in a lot of other ways too: we both are hopeless at remembering names, we learn in similar fashions and he certainly knew how to take advantage of my competitive nature as a child – making a race out of eating my brussels sprouts and doing my multiplication tables. My mother was, and is, the perfect counterbalance to my “Papa” – with her serene strength which gets us through any tough time. She is still my rock.
2) What is the best thing / worst thing about being an opera singer?
The irony of this job, is that all of the things that can be considered the best parts of what we do can also be the worst things on certain days. For example, travel is an amazing perk! We get to travel all over the world for work, for auditions, and for training. I marvel at how much of the world I’ve already been able to see in my relatively short time as a singer, and as someone with a love for discovery and new experiences and learning, this is hands down a “plus”. However, it also means being away from home and loved ones for long stretches of time, often living out of a suitcase, and missing a lot of important normal life events such as weddings, funerals, birthdays or just being able to babysit for a friend when she needs a night off. So some days, travel is a downside.
Another double edged sword is the constant learning and growth. One of the most wonderful and rewarding things about being an opera singer is that we are confronted on a daily basis with the need for self evaluation and improvement. The voice is never “done”. Technique is never “perfect”. There is constant questioning of our artistic ideas, and continuous learning of new repertoire. This is incredible! It is endlessly challenging and stimulating and engaging. But on the other hand, how does one deal emotionally with never feeling that the work is finished? How do you cope with the daily humbling process of auditioning and of fending off self-doubt? I firmly believe that opera singers will always manage to avoid a mid-life crisis, because we have smaller scale ones every day. This is both a blessing and a curse!
3) Who do you like to listen to or watch?
I love listening to Edith Piaf and Ella Fitzgerald. Even though neither of them sang opera, listening to their recordings teaches me about great artistry and great singing. Piaf, a woman of incredible vocal abilities, has the courage to throw beauty of sound and accuracy to the wind. Her singing is heart wrenching because she allows real emotion to creep in. Fitzgerald on the other hand fascinates me with the constant perfection of every note – and that achieved in the innocent days before autotune! She is endlessly witty and when she sings I know I would have loved to have known her as a friend. I think that’s what draws me to these two women – they are uniquely their own artists, and you can hear who they are in how they sing.
4) What ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
I wish I were handy. I am always so impressed with people who instinctually know how to fix or build things. I am woefully lacking in this area!
5) When you’re just relaxing and not working what is your favourite thing to do?
I love food, and when I have free time I usually indulge in some sort of food-related activity – either a lazy brunch at my favourite neighbourhood place, baking some sort of extravagant treat or preparing a meal with friends. However, if I can manage some time away from the city my favourite thing to do is to go on a good hike (stocked with a good picnic to enjoy at the end of the trek, of course).
Five more about appearing in the COC production of Semele:
1) How does singing the role of Semele challenge you?
I have found the role of Semele challenging because it contains such a variety of singing styles and requires great versatility. It’s high, it’s low, it’s fast, it’s slow, it’s tender, it’s petty, it’s angry, it’s beautiful. Basically, it asks that every bit of my vocal and dramatic toolboxes be used at some point or another and so it is an incredibly rewarding challenge.
2) What do you love about Semele: both the role & your part in this production?
I love that this opera tells such a modern, relevant story. I think that the reason Greek mythology has endured throughout the ages is because each tale centres around timeless human foibles or behaviours – in this case, jealousy and ambition. And for one of the oldest operas in the standard repertoire, I find it fascinating to see how overtly sexual the characters and the story are. In fact, it embraces what we like to think of as a “modern” attitude to sexuality, which just goes to show that we are not so different from the people who lived centuries before us. On top of all of this, Handel is one of my favourite composers, and he wrote some of his best music for this score. The choruses are grand and moving, and there is such variety in the writing of the arias for each character that when they’re strung along one after another, the listener is really taken by the magnitude of Handel’s genius.
The part of Semele, being central to the whole story, is therefore a wonderful character to play. I’ve really gotten to know the piece inside and out, and the vocal and dramatic challenges of the part, which I spoke about previously, truly make it one of the most fulfilling projects I’ve taken on to date.
3) Do you have a favourite moment in Semele?
My favourite part musically in the opera is a series of arias in Act 2. Juno, Jupiter’s jealous wife, sings “Iris Hence Away!” – a revenge aria which is raucous and electrifying and full of rhythmic spunk…
…and immediately after she leaves the stage we see Semele, all alone, singing “O Sleep, why dost thou leave me?” – a calm, floating aria with the most heartbreaking melody about how she wishes she could just sleep a little bit to soothe her troubled thoughts.
The juxtaposition of these two moments is the perfect example of Handel’s genius. There is such dramatic contrast between the arias that we really understand how different the two women are, and it draws the listener along on a real emotional journey.
4) How do you relate to Semele as a modern woman?
As I mentioned before, this opera really is shockingly modern at times, and so I feel like there isn’t a great divide between myself and Semele. Compared to many operatic heroines, she is not weak and under male rule. Yes, she is set up for an arranged marriage in the first act, but she runs away from the ceremony and goes against her father’s wishes in order to follow her heart. Then, once she is with Jupiter, she again speaks out when she wants something. She talks about how his absence makes her feel, and in the end demands that he give her the one thing that she truly desires – immortality. She is a woman who makes her own decisions, for better or for worse.
5) Is there a teacher or an influential recording you’d care to name whose work you especially admire?
Soprano Monica Whicher
My teacher and mentor is the wonderful Toronto-based soprano Monica Whicher. In the past 5 years, she’s been my trusted pair of ears, my friend, my inspiration and my therapist. I remember her singing Dido (in Dido and Aeneas) on stage with Opera Atelier and thinking: “now there is a true artist”. I’ve been very lucky to have been able to learn from her and hope that she’ll keep putting up with me as I embark on this crazy career!
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This week Mireille Asselin will appear in the Canadian Opera Company production of Semele: Wednesday May 23rd at 7:30 pm at the Four Seasons Centre.
Later Asselin goes on to the following projects:
Beethoven’s 9th Symphony with the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra, May 26th @ 7:30PM (Hamilton Place)
This summer in the roles of Phénice & Lucinde in Lully’s Armide, Glimmerglass Festival, Cooperstown.
Next season with the Canadian Opera Company, in the roles of Adele in Die Fledermaus and Servilia in La Clemenza di Tito
Composer Christopher Butterfield has influenced a generation of composers through his teaching at the University of Victoria, where he is cross-appointed to the visual art department. One time choir boy at King’s College in Cambridge and member of the 80’s Toronto rock band KLO, in the coming months he’ll be singing Socrate, by Erik Satie, and mentoring the Arraymusic Young Composers Workshop. His opera Zurich 1916 was written to a libretto by John Bentley Mays; he is currently translating Théâtre, a collection of three plays by Georges Ribemont-Dessaignes. Compositional work in progress includes a piece for solo percussion and ensemble, for Rick Sacks and Aventa Ensemble, and the never-ending piano trio Madame Wu said… He is on this year’s jury for the prestigious Dutch Gaudeamus International Composers Award, and was a mentor at the Young Composers Meeting in Apeldoorn NL.
Of Contes, Butterfield writes,
“Contes pour enfants pas sages was written just after the war by beloved French poet Jacques Prévert. Eight stories feature animals in various situations with humans and other creatures, some humorous, some absurd, some tragic. It’s certain Prévert intended them for children, but they make you wonder at their purpose – Prévert seems to want his young readers to know that the world is a cruel and unpredictable place as early as possible. Even so, their whimsical nature allows one to remember them as charming, if a little dangerous.
I ask Butterfield ten questions: five about himself and five about Contes pour enfants pas sages: 8 cautionary entertainments.
Composer Christopher Butterfield (photo: Ken Straiton)
1) Which of your parents do you resemble (what’s your nationality / ethnic background)?
I’m definitely a WASP, my father’s father was English, he immigrated to Canada in 1911, to the Creston valley in BC. My mother’s family were from Ontario and Nova Scotia. Oddly, my father was born in the US, and my mother was born in the UK! My dad went into the merchant navy when he was a boy, and then into the RCN after the war. My mother’s father was a career soldier, so I’m very much from a military/naval background. I like to think I’m like my dad, who loved life, poetry, music, dance, people, the sea…
2) what is the BEST thing / worst thing about being a composer?
The best thing about being a composer is being able to create music which does something that one doesn’t necessarily hear anywhere else. It’s not about originality so much as it’s about sonorities – I’m interested in harmony, and relationships that I hope continually surprise the listener. The worst thing is not composing enough. It takes a huge amount of discipline to be a composer, and I’m shiftless by nature. Teaching composition is a privilege, and something that I take very seriously, although my methods might be considered a bit offhand – there are many things to learn about being a composer and music is just one of them.
3) who do you like to watch or read?
John Cage
I buy lots of books, usually on a whim. Sometimes I read them, sometimes I don’t. I read a good biography of Cage recently… also a good autobiography by Carolyn Brown, who danced with Merce Cunningham for 20 years. The last good novel I read was Hans Fallada’s extraordinary story of personal revolt “Every man dies alone”. I used to go to the movies lots, but I don’t anymore. I don’t watch television, or cable, I don’t play computer games, I dont’ have any hobbies to speak of… I don’t listen to recorded music very much… time seems to pass quite quickly regardless. I think what does occupy me are specific projects that I create for myself – I recently sang Satie’s Socrate, which meant I had to actually train my voice (I used to sing a lot, but haven’t for years). And I’m guest curating a show about John Cage at the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria in the fall.
4) what ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
I wish I could sail a boat efficiently. I wish I could play the piano. I wish I was a better cook.
5) when you’re just relaxing (and not working) what is your favourite thing to do?
Wandering around downtown. This happens maybe twice a year.
Five more about Contes pour enfants pas sages:8 cautionary entertainments
Jacques Prévert (1900-1977), shown in 1961
1) How does adapting Contes pour enfants pas sages by Jacques Prévert challenge you?
It challenges me in the way any text that I think of setting to music does. I don’t want to be directed by the text, I want to bring pitch, duration, structure, and their resultant melody/harmony/rhythm to bear on the text, such that some kind of synthesis take place, which I’m not interested in knowing a priori. I always prefer to be in the dark, to make an accumulation of events (“music”) associated with a text that, with luck, combine over time to be more than the sum of the parts.
2) What do you love about Contes pour enfants pas sages and this type of composition?
Accumulative Arman
When I was a student, I discovered the French artist Arman. He made what he called accumulations; collections of like or identical objects, that he would organise in very close installations (or, in one variation, the garbage of famous artists). I’ve always liked the idea of musical accumulation; movements or sections or modules that affect one another, but not in any way that I can predict. Contes is composed this way. It’s an accumulation, there’s no plan for its effect, it’s simply a set of eight musical/narrative events which may (or may not) add up to a whole. I’ve done this before: in my opera Zurich 1916, which took 10 years to compose because every time it started to make sense, I would stop working on it; and Jappements à la lune, settings of Claude Gauvreau’s sound poems, which didn’t take quite as long to compose, because the text in this instance was sound poetry.
3) Do you have a favourite moment in the show?
I wish I could tell you that I knew what the show was going to be! I don’t think I have particular a particular favourite – they all have different characters. And two I have never heard before…
4) how do you relate to Contes pour enfants pas sages as a modern adult?
The stories are bitter, funny and absurd at the same time.
5) is there anyone out there whose approach you particularly admire, or who has influenced you?
I like playwright/director Richard Foreman’s work, it amazes me that he isn’t better known. I think Webern’s music is extraordinary, it’s unbelievably moving, WHEN PLAYED THAT WAY (capitals mine). In other words, I think people still see it as an exercise in structure, when in fact it’s the only positive result of post-romanticism, and should always be played with enormous sensitivity. When I was a teenager my favourite music was electric Chicago blues – I love Muddy Waters, and Little Walter… I can’t help but be a product of my upbringing, though: English church music (from my education as a choirboy in the UK), GIlbert and Sullivan (from my dad), and post-war moderns, Cage, Stockhausen, Berio, etc. (from my undergraduate education).
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Contes pour enfants pas sages: 8 cautionary entertainments by Christopher Butterfield
with Anne Grimm, soprano,
Benjamin Butterfield, tenor
918 Bathurst Centre (918 Bathurst), May 27 & 29, 2012, 8pm
Tickets ($30 adults / $15 students, seniors & arts workers) available at the door. For more information please visit www.continuummusic.org, email josh@continuummusic.org or call (416) 924-4945
Born and raised in Toronto, Canada, pianist and composer Stewart Goodyear began his training at Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto, received a bachelor’s degree from Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia and completed a Masters Degree at Juilliard School of Music in New York. Now calling New York his home, Goodyear has performed with the major orchestras of the world, including the New York Philharmonic, Los Angeles Philharmonic, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic, Toronto Symphony Orchestra, and the Philadelphia Orchestra, among many.
With a repertoire that includes Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, Gershwin, and Messiaen, Goodyear is also known as an improviser and composer. Goodyear’s composition, the fanfare entitled “Count Up”, was performed by the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra in Spring 2011. Goodyear has released recordings of many of Beethoven’s best known Sonatas on Marquis Classics: Late Sonatas (numbers 28-32) | Middle Sonatas (including the “Moonlight,” “Pastorale” and “Tempest” sonatas) .
Goodyear’s current project is his “Beethoven Marathon,” to be presented as part of the Luminato Festival. In a single day Goodyear will play all 32 Beethoven piano sonatas, which means that between 10:00 in the morning and 11:30 pm at night on June 9th, Goodyear will play for over 10 hours, a feat that as far as I know has never been done before.
I ask Goodyear 10 questions: five about himself and five about the Beethoven Marathon.
1) Which of your parents do you resemble (what’s your nationality / ethnic background)?
The parent I resemble the most is my grandfather on my father’s side. I am a Canadian pianist of British and Trinidadian heritage.
2) what is the BEST thing / worst thing about being a concert pianist?
The best thing about being a concert pianist is doing something that I love and that I have been passionate about since I can remember.
3) who do you listen to or watch?
If he were alive today, I would love to be at a Ray Charles concert. How he combined seemingly unrelated styles of music and created an entirely new music called ‘soul’ is an example of how anything is possible.
4) what ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
If I was not a pianist, I would love to have the skill of directing films. I admire each director and how he/she tells a story.
5) When you’re just relaxing (and not working) what is your favorite thing to do?
When I have a little down time, I watch a few scenes from my favorite movies, drink a cup of coffee, and chill to Frank Zappa and Miles Davis.
Five more concerning the Beethoven Marathon.
1) How does the act of playing all of Beethoven’s piano sonatas in a single day challenge you?
The challenge of playing Beethoven in general is to be 200 percent in the emotional zone. Beethoven’s music possesses me to such a degree that I am only aware of my surroundings after the performance is over.
2) what do you love about Beethoven’s piano sonatas?
I love how free and boundless Beethoven is as a creator. He is always challenging expectations and convention.
3) Do you have a favorite sonata?
It is almost impossible to choose a favorite sonata from these 32 gems. If I had to pick one, it would be Beethoven “Funeral March” sonata.
4) How do you relate to Beethoven’s piano sonatas as a modern man?
Beethoven’s sonatas, to me, will always be contemporary and timeless. Every second of his music goes beyond convention of any kind. It goes beyond romanticism, surrealism, minimalism, jazz, pop, and rock. Even in the last sonata, he goes beyond where boogie-woogie would take the listener.
5) Is there anyone out there who you particularly admire, and who has influenced you?
Leonard Bernstein is the classical musician of the 20th century I admire the most. He was inspired by all styles of music, and, just like Beethoven, he defied convention, created his own music, and communicated to audiences of all demographics.
~~~~~~~~
June 9th Stewart Goodyear will be playing all 32 Beethoven piano sonatas as part of the Luminato Festival:
PART 1
(10:00 AM – 2:00 PM) 4 hours, with intermission.
Sonatas No. 1 through 11, as well as No. 19 and No. 20, including the “Grand Sonata” and “Pathétique.”
PART 2
(3:00 PM – 6:30 PM) 3.5 hours, with intermission.
Sonatas No. 12 through 23 (except Nos. 19 and 20), including the “Moonlight,” “Pastoral,” “Tempest,” and “Appassionata.”
PART 3
(8:30 PM – 11:30PM) 3 hours, with intermission.
Sonatas No. 24 through 32, including “Les adieux” and “Hammerklavier.”
Luminato has commissioned internationally acclaimed Indonesian performance artist Melati Suryodarmo to create an on-stage performance piece that will continue throughout Stewart Goodyear’s marathon of 32 Beethoven sonatas. Suryodarmo’s three performance sequences will provide subtle, almost motionless visual enrichment that heightens the listening experience.
You never can tell. I would never have predicted which opera would be my favourite of the seven operas programmed this season by the Canadian Opera Company. Both the adventurous staging and the consistently brilliant singing make Handel’s Semele by far the best opera production I’ve seen from the COC.
Luckily I had my backstage preview of the opera that gave me a chance to wrap my head around this most original approach to Semele in the piece I posted a few days ago. My expectations were confirmed, the production doing pretty much what I’d expected. I had wondered if the COC would allow the liberties with Handel that (director) Zhang Huan took in the two previous incarnations (in Belgium & later China). They did indeed.
I am going to explain where I am coming from. Opera purists who come to a performance expecting –or demanding—that the usual procedures be followed might take issue with this production, as they have in New York with the Lepage Ring cycle. Just as Lepage strove to get back to the original text –albeit via an expensive modern production—so it would appear do Zhang.and his team.
But how, you may wonder, can a production using a dancing horse, a Tibetan singer, sumo wrestlers, puppets and finishing with a version of the Internationale, be in any sense faithful? I think the problem is in how we understand the work.
Semele began as a Lenten oratorio, making it a bit of an oxymoron if one considers that this erotically charged work was fashioned to premiere in the season of restraint. It’s in the most curious balance between the rational and the passionate, frequently stepping back to make detached commentaries about its action through its chorus, then giving one of the principals the opportunity to explore their feelings. The schizophrenic push-me pull-you style of baroque oratorio (or opera) is hyper-repressive, in the way that action moves in discreet chunks, followed by a lengthy exploration of a passion in the stasis of an aria. To a Martian –or come to think of it, a Chinese installation artist such as Zhang—Handel’s oratorio would seem very odd. It doesn’t really have a native performance style, having been uprooted from the beginning, in the almost immediate rejection of this style by the London public, a kind of exile that’s never really had a proper home, but was always something of a fish out of water. The worst thing one could do is stage it as though it were realistic, as some have attempted.
In the 18th century, opera was a very different experience from what we get now. If you had Juno & Semele onstage together they would both be dressed in lovely attire, but without any clear indication what century they were to portray, let alone the kind of precisely coded costuming and set one frequently encounters nowadays. I believe that were a baroque performer suddenly resurrected in Toronto and shown the three operatic programs currently being staged, they’d find Zhang’s approach – where the set is merely a context rather than an attempt to simulate a world—highly congenial and recognizable, while feeling a bit odd on a set from a specific time (as you find in Gianni Schicchi or Contes d’hoffmann). I believe this production is far more congenial to the work than the conventional / purely representational approaches.
That Zhang chose to substitute parts of the opera might also upset purists, but in the 18th century it was the way opera was done. I’m not saying Zhang read about suitcase arias, but I applaud his choices on the grounds that any purist defending Handel on grounds of textual integrity needs to remember that such principles are always relative to the century you’re working in.
Sigh. I did run into a couple in the elevator who left at the intermission. Of course I was grinning like a 5 year old and said “how did you like it,” not expecting that anyone felt different than I did (and the house had erupted in applause at the end). When I talked to them they were pleasant but seemed mystified by the production, which mixes serious (a 450 year old Buddhist temple, a tale of gods and mortals) and silly (an inflatable puppet, a dancing horse, sumo wrestlers), and couldn’t understand my enthusiasm, which I was unable to conceal.
For me, Zhang’s production feels like a production from first principles, addressing fundamental questions about what it is to be human or immortal, to be incarnated in a body or concealed in another form (and this is true of both of the gods as well as the temple that is the set). Those thoughtful arias and choruses that seem too rational for real life make sense in this inter-life place, a temple where souls come to be incarnated, or comment afterwards (as Semele does). The odd mix of styles and cultures–of Handel in English, a Tibetan song, a pair of sumo wrestlers, and to finish, the Internationale—are properly multi-cultural, as if in a magical place that is all cultures and no cultures, a forgiving mix that is a reflection of this oddball opera.
In a more typical production of Semele I’d be feeling a bit strange about Juno, Jupiter and Semele, who would look like opera singers onstage, even though one purports to be mortal, while the other two are supposedly gods. If, however, we’re in this odd space suggesting souls seeking peace, the abstract conversation makes much more sense. I no longer mind that a god and a mortal are side by side, because they’re in a virtual space for the incarnation of souls, as we might see for example in Noh theatre.
This is the most sensual opera I have ever seen. There’s more touching, more allusions to sexuality, more pure passion than I’ve ever seen in a production of Tristan und Isolde (Wagner lovers take note). The chorus were often pressed into service as if they were illustrations in a sex-ed textbook, or failing that, used for their voyeuristic potential when Jupiter & Semele were at it.
“Where e’er you walk”: Jane Archibald as Semele and William Burden as Jupiter in the Canadian Opera Company production of Semele, 2012 Photo Credit: Michael Cooper (click photo for photo gallery on COC website)
Tenor William Burden was a very believable Jupiter, singing the opera’s best known tune, “Where e’er ye walk”, a concretely sensual exploration of Semele, massaging and washing the feet of Jane Archibald as she lay on her back before him. Elsewhere, his cadenzas were opportunities to teasingly manhandle her, the god bewildering her with his physical dominance.
Semele is also very funny. Juno is jealous of Semele, and because we’re seeing a production unafraid of the text, the humour is very close to the surface. Allyson McHardy has no remorse leading Semele to her doom, gleefully celebrating. The voice reminds me of Janet Baker, with consistent richness well below middle C, and wonderful musicianship. I would have been happy had she been the star, thrilled by her singing.
The cast is one of the strongest seen at the Four Seasons Centre in recent years, with no weaknesses, Semele was especially strong, as played by Jane Archibald. There are several arias that stop the show, particularly the third act aria “My self I shall adore”. A disguised Juno presents Semele with a mirror that makes her ever more vain & self-loving. The set design made the entire stage a colossal mirror, reflecting the theatre back to itself. Archibald coyly played to this huge mirror, never seeming at all taxed in this most difficult of arias. I suddenly remembered: they premiered the opera two nights ago, yet Archibald was singing effortlessly, popping out what sounded like a high F above a couple of Cs in that aria, a D in another aria, and showing several different types of singing. Archibald all by herself is actually better than any opera presented this season, perhaps the best coloratura in the world right now, a gorgeous, witty actress playing the part with such complete ease that we get lost in her humour or her pathos.
Archibald and McHardy are still quite young, so that we can hope to see their talents re-united again. They sound wonderful together.
The COC orchestra played like a period ensemble due to the leadership of conductor Rinaldo Alessandrini. There was a time that the only way to get a particular timbre was with one of the historically informed performance ensembles such as Tafelmusik. While there’s no real substitute for the gentle sounds of such an orchestra, conductors are now able to bring their scholarship to the performance of modern instruments. The COC orchestra had a previous experience like this with Harry Bicket leading them in Orfeo ed Euridice a couple of years ago. Then as now, you might have wondered whether they were playing on different instruments.
I am thrilled that I already have tickets to another later performance. You must see this, if only for Archibald’s heroics in that amazing aria, but also for the lovely sound of Allyson McHardy, the playing of the COC orchestra, the COC chorus’ outstanding performance, and the beautiful set.
The Canadian Opera Company production of Semele continues until May 26 at the Four Seasons Centre in Toronto.
After thirty-three years working at the University of Toronto in various roles that placed him in the forefront of sustainability at the University and the country, Attila Keszei is at a cross-roads. Keszei is an engineer and a painter, sculptor & writer, an activist both in his role at the university and as a concerned artist. The awards (for example the Chancellor’s Award in 2010 and Excellence Through Innovation in 2011) only hint at Attila’s influence & mentorship of the next generation.
Faludy György (1980), bronze by Attila Keszei
The entire time of his work at the university, Keszei was also working in several disciplines: sculpture (some wonderful bronzes), ceramic, painting, and installations. At times art rather than sustainability was the medium whereby Keszei sought to make a difference in the world; but –recalling Pablo Picasso, whose big show has recently opened in Toronto–Keszei also can play the more conventional role of artist, including a striking portrait in bronze of the Hungarian patriot poet Faludy.
As the door closes at the end of one sort of career, another door opens for the creative artist. At this transitional moment I’ve asked Attila ten questions: five about himself and five more about his upcoming work as an artist engaged with his society.
1) Which of your parents do you resemble (what s your nationality / ethnic background)?
Attila Keszei, c. 1995
Father was coming mainly from a straight Hungarian stock on his mother’s side and from his father s side, my fatherly grandfather who was born in 1867, was a mixed race. I heard on a few occasions from my father that grandfather was born out of wedlock from a Catholic chambermaid and a rich Jewish merchant. Is there a truth to it? I do not know. But I was told that my big nose and my name Klein or Kiss as it was changed to sound more Hungarian came from that branch of the family tree.
My mother on the other hand came from a very straight German family line. Her parents were descendent of the seventeen century Schwaben migrant people, her parents family names were Volkesinger and Finster. In the 1930s mother’s father changed his name from Finster to Faskerti to blend in more into the Hungarian society. It was interesting that after the Second World War my motherly grandfather’s two brothers, who did not change their names, were displaced back to, what was then called, West Germany.
I think I am like those mixed race dogs. Not pretty or noble but the one which can learn now tricks. So that is what I am, a half-bred.
2) what is the BEST thing / worst thing about being an artist?
Let’s face it, art is not a necessity. A baker, cobbler or an engineer always needed. But a painting or worst, a sculpture, are most cases are not the most needed list. The best about creating something tangible is that at that few occasions when some art is getting to someone’s house, get purchased, it must give a real pleasure on an ongoing manner.
3) who do you listen to or watch?
When I was in the army I had an experience that had a life time effect on me.
I was part of sixteen of us, who were sent out to an ammunition depot to protect it. It was a 24 hours duty which was for some solders the most frightening experience. One was out on the post for two hours then he was replaced and went back to the resting area where he has to be on ‘alarm duty’, meaning could not go to sleep for the next two hours. Then after that the next two hours he could sleep until he was awakened to go to replace same other guy on the patrol. I liked to be on those duties. I knew that no Americans would come to steal our few grenades or whatnot hidden in the concrete bunkers, so I was studying the trees, the bees, the ants or simple sad Nature during the daytime and the sky, the Universe during the night. I learned the location of the major constellations and listened the noises of the night. I was day or night dreaming and only by the noises of the replacement soldiers brought me back to the reality to the present.
One of this occasions when I was on ‘alert duty’ at 2:00AM in the resting area and was quite tired but I was not allowed to sleep, I had realized that I was listening to the music that was played in the radio. I was half tuned out, kind of half-awoken-half-sleep, in that gray area of consciousness, I felt that the music was pumping in my veins I become aware of the beauty of its sound and harmony.
I never in my life before really listened to classical music. I grow up on folk music and the operettas of the forties. The radio, which we had during my childhood, had only two channels and both were controlled by the communist government. Classical music was played quite frequently but I did not hear it, until that moment. The emotional strength of the music had such a strong affect on me that I could not fall asleep when finally I was allowed, I was too alert. Later that day when we went back to the barracks I looked up the radio program and figured it out what could have been that music.
It was the New World Symphony by Dvorak.
I went to the library where there were a LP player and many LPs and find the vinyl. I put it on and a ‘new world open up’ to me by the ‘New World Symphony’.
After that experience I started to go back to the barracks’ library and by the time I got to the University I built up a passion for classical music. When I got into the man’s dormitory my first purchase was a record player. Five years later I left the University with a diploma of “Mechanical Engineer’ and I had close to 100 classical LP in my personal collection.
4) what ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?
One of my friends asked what was my handicap? He was thinking about the Scottish shepherd game, golf, but I pretended misunderstanding the question and answered: My English!
Yes, I would love to be able to express myself better and use the full extend of this beautiful language.
5) When you re just relaxing (and not working) what is your favorite thing to do?
I cannot relax in the true meaning of the word. I like to work being that engineering, renovations, painting, sculpting or writing. Reading, as many people consider it as relaxation, is not my approach. I read few books a year but those are usually ‘heavy’ not entertain but rather reference type of publication. So to answer the question my favorite relaxation is working.
Five more about being an artist / activist
1) Having formerly divided yourself between art and your daytime career at the university (as an agent for sustainability), how does your new life (devoting yourself fully to your creative projects as an artist with an activist sensibility) challenge you?
I strongly believe, if in the meantime the radiation from Fucoshima will not kill me/us, that I have a few more sculpture that I have to make. It is not because I want to make money but because I have an inner need to express myself and hopefully with that I can add some pleasure or points to think of, to my fellow human beings.
2) what do you love about making art, especially art that has some sort of political message?
In my view, the artist’s dedication having been filtered through his emotional and mental make-up dictates his actions, finding expression in literature, painting, sculpting, music and other art forms. This artistic expression becomes fruitful and meaningful only if it has an objective significance for the observer. This is my artistic belief, that guides my work.
Now I know that someone may think that I am full of hot air but I feel that with an empty mind no meaningful outcome could be achieved.
So the subject matter of my art come from Judeo-Christian religion, the Greek-Roman teaching and the present-day events that surround us.
Showing Moses’ anger when he returns from the ‘meeting with God’ or showing Aphrodite/Venus with the golden apple and anxious face, knowing that giving Helena to Paris will not go down without a war, showing the very first moment when the man-made sun lighted up the desert in New-Mexico, the morose face of a blue collar worker when the factory he worked for years/decades close down due to ‘Globalization’ or the peaceful demonstrators’ shocked by the reaction of the establishment.
“In Memory of JR Oppenheimer” (1997), raku fired ceramic. 36″H x 72″W x 8″D See also the companion mural: “In Memory of Leo Szilard”.
That is the reason that I started a new art form which I call the “Concerned Art”. If you go to my web site you will know what I meant (www.artterrastudio.com).
3) Do you have a favourite piece or type of art that you’ve created?
I am with my art as with my children. There is no favorite. All of them are/were a part of me, my thinking, my expressions. Yes, there are some less successful interpretations then the others, but in the eyes of the observers make one work more attractive then the others.
4) How do you relate to the geophysical and geopolitical realities of 2012 as a modern man?
If there are intelligent beings ‘out there’ and they look at us, humans, then they can see what pathetic, inferior creatures we are. Because of the color of one’s skin or the religious dogma one is born into, the gender one turns out to be makes us hateful, malicious, non-intelligible beings. We did improve technically but the species did not develop at all. The reptilian part of our brain always take over. Our species’ history continuously repeats itself.
5) Is there anyone out there who you particularly admire, and who has influenced you?
It would be easy to say: Gandhi, Einstein, Mother Theresa, Some of the great painters sculptors, like Velasquez, Vermeer, Raphael, Michelangelo, etc. but all of them have some angle that is better left alone.
If anything I admire the female gender.
All religions are placing the women behind the men and in reality the male species’ reptilian brain is responsible for most, if not all, the problems of our time and in the past. I would hazard a guess; we would not be in such a mess if women would have an equal say in all matters.
Maybe even for God it is true that repetition makes better: “The second , modified/improved version of our species – the women – are better”!
While there’s still a controversy about Robert Lepage’s production of Wagner’s Ring Cycle at the Metropolitan Opera because some people don’t like it, it seems to be a success.
I was at the Das Rheingold that opened the third cycle, after seeing the DieWalküre in the first cycle. I don’t believe the critical voices matter when the tickets are all sold to happy satisfied patrons. The discouraging words come from people who presumably would like to see a different approach; but there are other possible approaches, including the one taken by Lepage and his Ex Machina team.
I had already seen all the High Definition broadcasts (that is, two broadcasts of the first two operas, plus the last two without any encores). While I was happy with the production as it appears on a movie theatre screen, it’s totally different inside the theatre. I saw Walküre from the Family Cicle, while I was in the Orchestra for Rheingold.
The most common complaint I’ve heard against Lepage concerns Lepage’s machine, which sometimes makes noise, and often calls attention to itself. True. It’s big, and in fact at times it’s scary.
And why not? The machine is a big part of the show when you’re in the theatre. We’re watching the forces of nature enacted before us. I love the carnivalesque element: that the gods entry into Valhalla, or the descent to Nibelheim requires doubles on strings, that Loge (who is called “the lie“) walks backwards up the wall.
After having seen Götterdämmerung it’s interesting to note that the cycle ends the way it began. The machine executes undulating wave motion. While it may seem like a little thing, I wonder if any cycle has ever opened with exactly the same image as seen at the beginning? No, it’s not profound. But this Ring doesn’t present itself as being profound.
There are a few changes this time around.
Richard Paul Fink took over as Alberich from Eric Owens, offering a more conventional portrayal (given that Owens has a voice that sometimes overpowers that of Bryn Terfel as Wotan), but as strong at the end as at the beginning.
Adam Klein, a revelation in the role of Loge
Adam Klein sang a wonderful Loge, enlarging the physical aspect we’d already seen from Richard Croft in the earlier version of the opera last season. Not only did Klein walk backwards up the wall using wires, but turned it into a part of his characterization. At times he posed defiantly (sideways), at other times he struck a more ironic attitude. For me Loge is a bellwether of the production, which might explain why I loved this show so much. Klein made magic from his first appearance to his last: a revelation.
Franz-Josef Selig as Fasolt and Wendy Bryn Harmer had already created an off-beat relationship in their portrayals of Fasolt & Freia. You may recall that the deal between the gods and giants made Freia the payment for the building of Valhalla,a match that usually means the goddess resists the unattractive giant. Last year we already saw Harmer making eyes at Selig, at least showing some conflicted tremors in recognition that the giant genuinely loved her. This time they took it even further, Selig reluctantly releasing Harmer when her ransom is paid.
Maestro Fabio Luisi
The pace from Fabio Luisi, who has replaced James Levine as conductor of the Metropolitan Orchestra, is a breath of fresh air. I prefer Luisi’s fast Wagner, which to my knowledge is more authentic than the slower pace taken by conductors such as Levine. Even so, for the first time I began to understand some of the complaints, given that the orchestra didn’t manage to play as loudly as I would have expected in several key passages, fluffing several times in the second scene.
Bottom line? While Lepage’s Ring is recognized for the obvious elements recognizable from his work in the circus-aerial realm, I haven’t seen proper credit for what he’s brought to the Ring’s human relationships. In Rheingold, this is most obvious in the chemistry between Fasolt & Freia, but also seen in the details of Stephanie Blythe’s portrayal of Fricka and her relationship to Bryn Terfel’s Wotan. It’s vivid without any concept overlaid. Perhaps this is disappointing to those who think Wagner should have those extra layers.
Finally, I must say how much I love the machine that is at the centre of this production. To me it’s a symbol, and a powerful one at that. The Ring Cycle is about change, about the succession of power, so to have a set that is as protean as the world itself, that changes into everything and anything makes terrific sense. Erda warns Wotan, saying “Alles was ist, endet. (Everything that is, ends)” The cyclical nature is right there in the set, which changes endlessly, looking exactly the same at the end as it will at the beginning.
I’d see it all again at Lincoln Centre in New York if I could possibly afford it. But there’s another option in the movie theatres. The cycle is back this week, including an introductory film, Wagner’s Dream on May 7th, followed by encores of the cycle operas:
barczablog 