Rossini’s Otello from Opera By Request

Last night I watched a concert presentation of Rossini’s Otello from Opera By Request, a company who demonstrate their importance with every outing.  

Bill Shookhoff leads from the piano working without a conductor, seated upstage of performers who face the audience from their music stands dressed in formal attire. Their usual venue of College St. United Church is an intimate space with a live acoustic ideal for this sort of exploration.  The singers are in character, although sometimes when they’re looking at one another it is as much for musical reasons as dramatic ones.  

Bill Shookhoff and Ernesto Ramirez rehearsing at College St United Church

OBR explain their rationale in their program note:

“Opera By Request was launched in 2007 to provide opportunities for singers to learn and perform roles in their entirety, and for audiences to experience opera, both rare and familiar, at affordable prices. All Opera By Request productions are initiated by singers not by the director. Since its inception, more than 300 singers have presented over 200 performances of more than 100 different operas.”

And so on this occasion we encountered Rossini’s alternative to Verdi’s better known version of Shakespeare’s play, its libretto by Francesco Berio di Salsa that premiered in 1816 (in contrast to the better known adaptation by Arrigo Boito that premiered in 1887).  The prolific Rossini, one of the quickest composers in history, who premiered three operas in 1816, and four the next year likely didn’t agonize over his work the way Boito and Verdi did. Does it matter that the story has been changed? Does it matter that some of the music in the scene where Otello murders Desdemona resembles music we hear in Barber of Seville, composed earlier the same year?  Not when the goal is a virtuoso display of vocal fireworks. In fairness there’s nothing wrong with what he’s written, it’s just that this segment reminds me of the comedy. I don’t know whether it’s another reason why Verdi’s opera pushed Rossini’s out of the standard repertoire, although the fact that Rossini requires two amazing tenors is likely a bigger reason.  

Shakespeare’s Iago is a major character who has more lines in the play than the title role, a disparity honoured in Boito’s adaptation even if he changes the motivations substantially.   Rossini’s Iago (Dillon Parmer) is a much smaller part even if his machinations are still central to the plot, fueling mistrust by Otello (Paul Williamson) of his wife Desdemona (Meagan Reimer). The arc of her character is much darker in Rossini’s opera, distrusted and castigated by her father (Dylan Wright), concealing the marriage to Otello without any of the joyful lyrical moments such as the ones Verdi offers at the conclusion of his first act.  Rodrigo (Ernesto Ramirez) is a much bigger character in this older version that requires a spectacular tenor voice.  Rossini’s audience welcomed a bel canto showpiece for three tenor voices and a big soprano role rather than the more psychological writing Verdi created  71 years later. Tastes change. 

Recalling the main reason for OBR—singers trying out roles—it was a privilege to see and hear this rarity. It’s a pleasure to see the opera sung with a black Otello, even as I wondered whether vocal type had any part in the casting.  Paul has a dramatic sound that might be big enough for Verdi’s Otello. While Rossini’s Otello goes much higher than Verdi’s (who never reaches a high C), Paul’s colour was still of a more heroic timbre than that of Ernesto, whose role seems more conventionally bel canto in its requirement of an enormous amount of coloratura, often sung softly. I’m not sure which role lies higher in its overall tessitura (range) especially when singers may sometimes interpolate higher notes.  The aesthetic is meant to impress us and in this respect they succeeded admirably.  Paul sang a couple of very high notes, one that I think was a high D, even while defying expectations in also giving us a big heroic sound.  If Verdi was familiar with Rossini’s take on the character he likely had a dramatic voice in mind, following up on the heavier writing in Don Carlos and for Rhadames in Aida.  Ernesto’s singing was beautifully idiomatic, breath-taking at times, using the small venue to advantage, singing very softly with the piano accompaniment, an approach that likely would not have been heard opposite a full orchestra.

Meagan Reimer and Paul Williamson rehearsing the climactic moments

Meagan Reimer was very good in the last act of the role of Desdemona, especially the Willow Song, reminding me of Joan Sutherland in her secure pitch and focus, and precisely accurate coloratura.   

Dillon Parmer was a subtle Iago, winning Otello’s trust without seeming too evil, which is helpful. Otherwise we lose all respect for Otello because he seems gullible to trust Iago. Dylan Wright was a powerful voiced Elmiro (Desdemona’s father), Abigail Veenstra was a sympathetic Emilia.

I am always amazed at what Bill accomplishes, as prolific and busy as Rossini himself. The piano part was full of quick passages, often exploding into loud octaves meant to simulate a big orchestra in the piano reduction.

OBR tell us that next season will include Rigoletto, Marriage of Figaro, Bartered Bride, Idomeneo, the Canadian premiere of Thomas Pasatieri’s The Segull, and more. You can find out more by calling (416) 455-2365, or follow them on Facebook.

Posted in Books & Literature, Music and musicology, Opera, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Yuja Wang’s Rachmaninoff

What’s in a name.

“Yuja Wang’s Rachmaninoff” was the title of the final program to bring the Toronto Symphony 100th Anniversary Season to a powerful close. All three concerts were sold out. We knew why we wanted to be there, it’s right in the name.

Cartoon by Jessica Mariko @caffeinatedkeyboardist

She comes into the concert hall in couture, atop impossibly tall shoes. The entrance alone is a feat of elegance bordering on athleticism.

She bows so deeply and quickly it’s an acrobatic move. I’m afraid watching her head go flying down so far (but then again I’m older and stiffer).

It’s especially amazing to watch Yuja play this piece, the Rachmaninoff Third piano concerto, one of the most difficult of all piano concertos. As of today it’s now hers. Nobody can really touch what she’s doing out there. It meant that the concert’s title had a literal meaning for me. Rach III is hers as far as I’m concerned. “Yuja Wang’s Rachmaninoff” is truer than expected.

At times there’s a kind of swagger to her interpretation, sometimes sketching a phrase like a brushstroke in the air, so soft it’s almost a dare to your ear. “Can you imagine this played with such clarity, such delicacy?”

That the artist making those subtle gestures can come back with so much power a few moments later boggles the mind. I’ve heard this concerto a few times live and many times on record. I’ve staggered through it on my own piano (no I am not so delusional as to inflict it on an audience), and it’s never going to bore me or wear out its welcome, like a song played once too often. The interpretation emerges like a thought, created by the pianist as though she had just composed it a moment ago. It seems brand new.

I’m always a bit amazed watching Yuja, whose technique seems so fluid that she makes it seem easy anf effortless. No I can’t say she makes it sound easy, because she’ll be playing something bordering on the impossible. Yet there’s no sense of effort or struggle. I’d point to a pair of contrasting operatic styles. Jon Vickers or Maria Callas gave us the drama of a singer whose voice showed the signs of struggle, the voice full of pain and anguish. I wasn’t always confident they could reach their high notes and at times they would fail to do so. There were pianists like that, for instance Artur Schnabel, who played wrong notes. Then there’s an artist such as Luciano Pavarotti or Joan Sutherland, who never in my experience sang flat, an ease of production that allowed one to get lost in the music. I find Yuja is more like the latter, as she may play pieces of demonic intensity but her expression is always angelic, totally on top of the experience. If she doesn’t seem stressed or worried we won’t worry either.

I’m sorry for those people who beat a hasty retreat from the crowded confines of Roy Thomson Hall (I’ve never seen it so full), missing the two brilliant encores Yuja offered to her adoring screaming fans, myself included. The first was a lyrical piece I didn’t recognize (perhaps Schumann? Chopin?) that might be in G-minor. The second was one of the Carmen fantasies, taking melodies from Bizet’s opera as the opportunity for some brilliant pyrotechnics at the keyboard. Seriously, the people who left early missed something glorious.

I was envious of Joseph Johnson, the TSO’s principal cellist sitting in the best seat in the house just upstage of the end of Yuja’s piano bench.

Joseph Johnson: best seat in the house

He posted a lovely photo earlier this week, a shot of him and Yuja possibly taken by Jonathan Crow with whom they were making chamber music.

Envious? Of course.

I was one of the pushy people bravoing endlessly, but coming to a point where I felt guilty, that maybe Yuja had suffered enough, between two encores, the Rach III and applause fit for a rock concert. We needed to let her go.

Principal 2nd violin Wendy Rose was warmly celebrated by Gustavo Gimeno on the occasion of her last TSO. performance.

At intermission I was delighted to run into Janice Oliver, Project Manager for the COC opera house and the Citadel at Regent Park, my former boss at University of Toronto. She spoke of the integrity shown by the TSO’s programming in the first half of the concert.

Before intermission the TSO and Music Director Gustavo Gimeno demonstrated their support for the development of early career composers through the TSO’s NextGen Composer program, established in 2020, as the TSO website tells us.

Three promising Canadian composers are selected each year and given opportunity to write five-minute orchestral works for the TSO. Throughout the process, the NextGens are mentored by TSO Composer Advisor Gary Kulesha and RBC Affiliate Composer Alison Yun-Fei Jiang with workshops in score preparation by TSO Principal Librarian Chris Reiche Boucher.

Gustavo Gimeno explains:/
A defining element of the program is the placement of new works by our NextGen Composers adjacent to Shostakovich’s First Symphony,” he says. “One of the reasons I love the NextGen program is because it allows us to investigate the area between very fresh and fully established in each creator’s artistry, which is where their distinct personality begins to present itself. Similarly, what you hear in Shostakovich’s First is an artist who is young, creative, searching.

And it made a beautiful complement to Yuja’s Rach III, a three-movement work that’s roughly 45 minutes long. Before intermission we heard the three five minute world premiere pieces plus the half-hour of Shostakovich’s First Symphony.

Luis Ramirez, Fjóla Evans, and Matthew-John (MJ) Knights

I’m again moved to ask “what’s in a name” as we ponder the three new works from the three young composers. While Shostakovich’s piece is called a symphony (which was perhaps the fashion in his time), each of the new works has a title that is itself a fascinating commentary.

We began with Hraunflæði (Icelandic for ‘lava flow’) from Canadian/Icelandic composer Fjóla Evans.

Her program note says “In the first half of Hraunflæði, I attempt to evoke the impression of molten lava roiling beneath the surface and then emanating forth in an unstoppable yet slow-moving torrent. In the second half of the piece, the drier textures of the orchestra explore the sounds of lava solidifying. Towards the end of the piece, I imagine the hissing and sputtering of drops of rain falling on the still warm lava.

While Hraunflæði is not to be confused with impressionist music that paints a precise tone-picture, there’s clearly something recognizable from her description, the opening soundscape of bent tones gnarly with a ferocious energy, while towards the end we get something that truly seems to cool off, music that’s less of an implicit threat, gentler, safer, more approachable.

Lines Layers Ligaments, the piece from Matthew-John (MJ) Knights seems to focus on the music on the page, his program note reminding me of Debussy (whose arabesques could be understood in a tradition of design upon the music staff) and Richard Strauss (whose Metamorphosen presents itself as an orchestral work for a large ensemble of solo instruments): a pair of allusions that likely will have some shaking their heads at what I’ve just said: because of course we didn’t get anything sounding like Debussy or Strauss in these five minutes, but something far edgier, rougher. While I loved the way he wrote about his music, the result was more like an etude or study, the orchestra making a great deal of music, then leaving us with a delightful concluding gesture.

Picante by Mexican-Canadian composer Luis Ramirez seemed to be the one that inspired Gimeno, himself another Latino after all. If the key to composition and marketing yourself as a composer is to create a good concept & title for your piece? then Ramirez will go far.

Picante follows the masochistic experience of eating spicy food as it takes us on an imaginative journey inside the human body. The entire piece is built around a fiery gesture that builds over time into an explosive climax, before being close-up in a calm state of flavourful enjoyment. This burning sensation is quintessential in Mexican culture. The music captures the fascinating process that occurs when eating spicy food: Our hearts quicken; we sweat, sniffle, cry, and cough; we shiver; we groan; we scream; and we suffer. Nevertheless, the most crucial reaction is that the brain releases endorphins and dopamine to lessen and alleviate the pain. The result is an intriguing exploration of the fine line between pain and pleasure. After all, what is life, if not the search for pleasure amidst the pain?”

But in fact his piece is more than just a concept. The music is mostly pleasurable, including sensuous passages of great beauty. It’s not just a name or an idea. If he chose he could expand this to something far bigger than five minutes in length.

Alongside these three, the TSO then gave us Shostakovich’s flamboyant 1st Symphony, a badass display of wit and irony to bely the composer’s supposed inexperience. It makes a terrific companion to the three Nextgen premieres.

The TSO will continue this week with the music of Alan Menken led by Steve Reineke, and Marvel’s Black Panther in concert next week.

Posted in Music and musicology, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

VICE and the Doctrine of Presidential Infallibility

The headline is designed to catch your attention. When I googled “presidential infallibility” most hits refer to the Pope, whose infallibility is a doctrine we’ve heard about for a long time. The idea of infallibility associated with the POTUS is another matter entirely.

I call it VICE rather than Vice (the way you see it in IMDB for instance) because that’s how it appears in the film’s credits, or the trailer.

Perhaps that’s wrong, but I like the look of it, a screaming four letter word.

Never have I felt that a historical film was so apt for explaining the current mess in USA as VICE (2018). Primary credit for this incisiveness surely belongs to Adam McKay, who directed and wrote the screenplay.

Yes its cast is also remarkable, Christian Bale transformed into Dick Cheney. This is an official photo of Cheney, to show you how close Bale’s portrayal comes to the original.

Vice President Dick Cheney is seen Jan. 28, 2008 during the State of the Union Address at the U.S. Capitol. With a distinguished career in public service spanning four decades, the Vice President has served four presidents and his home state of Wyoming as a six-term member of the U.S. House of Representatives. White House photo by David Bohrer

Amy Adams was his wife Lynne, Steve Carell was Donald Rumsfeld, Sam Rockwell was George W Bush.

But there are brilliant touches we don’t see in Hollywood films.

There’s a wonderful scene in a restaurant featuring Alfred Molina in an uncredited appearance as a waiter, offering Rumsfeld, Cheney and others in the inner circle (that didn’t include George W Bush btw) a series of options. Are they there for food? The guest are rather blood-thirsty in the way the huge slabs of meat are cut up on the plates. They’re hearing ways to violate international law. It’s creepy.

Another example comes in a scene between Cheney (Bale) and his wife (Adams), that segues from the constructed reality we’ve had into a more theatrical exchange. The narrator tells us that there’s no way to know what they were really discussing, and suddenly we’re listening to a Shakespearean discussion between the wife encouraging her husband’s pursuit of power, not unlike the Scottish play. It’s a breathtaking bit of film precisely because it’s so unreal, so unlikely, and yes, a reminder that Shakespeare or cinema are fictional creations.

McKay has in this segment taken us back to earlier moments of his film. We see the moment earlier in the Cheney’s marriage when Lynne confronted Dick about his drinking, urging him to do better, or she’d dump him.

She wasn’t disappointed.

It’s not all politics though. Dick Cheney is a loyal husband and father, standing by his gay daughter. He’s at times a mystery, but often sympathetic.

McKay shows Cheney making connections. Rumsfeld explains a lot to his loyal pupil Cheney, observing how Nixon comes to Kissinger’s office, where the conversations won’t be recorded, to discuss bombing Cambodia without consulting or even telling Congress (as required by law). During a war especially, the POTUS has the powers of a king, above the law and virtually infallible.

McKay is explaining how we got to where we are in 2023. A recent president is following the same template as Nixon (Cambodia is not the only example) or George W Bush (lying about weapons of mass destruction before USA and its coalition invaded Iraq, supposedly in response to the terrorist attacks of Sept 11 2001). While the Insurrection may be illegal for the participants (thinking of the ones who are in jail already), but what about for the President, who is arguably infallible? It’s a bit of a legal conundrum, a logical puzzle at the very least. But these stepping stones make the present day predicament far easier to understand.

Let me point you to a couple of things I found when I googled.

The doctrine of infallibility version 1, pertaining to George W Bush in a piece from 2002.
A Doctrine of Presidential Infallibility – The Washington Post

The doctrine of infallibility version 2: a more recent essay pertaining to Donald Trump
Trump’s Defenders Have Adopted a Doctrine of Infallibility | National Review

Underlying this idea of infallibility is something we heard in the film, namely the Unitary executive theory. The wikipedia article gives a summary, including mention of VICE, a film that explores the implications, as Bush (with the help of Dick Cheney, Bush rubber-stamping Cheney’s actions) can do anything during a war. Unitary executive theory – Wikipedia

Finally, there’s a comical afterthought, in a “focus group” scene that comes up in the moments of the film after the credits. As I type this CNN has a town hall underway, which hopefully will be more authentic than the CNN townhall with Trump. I just heard Chris Christie say “complete baloney”, thinking that hmm a town hall where you only admit supporters of the person on the stage isn’t a town hall. It’s a rally. Hopefully this time there will be people in the audience asking tough questions, not lobbing softballs into the guest’s strike-zone. Canada isn’t much better.

Democracy has seen better days.

Posted in Cinema, video & DVDs, Politics, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

PERCEPTUAL ARCHAEOLOGY (or How To Travel Blind)

Don’t let the big words in the title fool you. “Perceptual Archaeology”? I’m closer to knowing what that might mean after seeing Alex Bulmer’s new show at Crow’s Theatre, a co-production with Fire and Rescue Team that helps you to imagine How To Travel Blind, and perhaps rethink how you live if you were to “decentre visuality”. It’s a question that’s a luxury to contemplate if your eyes work. A blind person must ask such things of necessity.

I can’t deny that the title stopped me short, pausing to ask myself how that works, what does it mean. As a sighted person I’m amazed at how people manage to get around in their home or their city when they can’t see.

Now picture doing that in another country where they don’t even speak your language.

Notice that the verb I used (picture) is visual. I think I’m an average person, which is to say, I rely on what I see and tend to speak via metaphors and images that invoke eyesight.

Coming into this show I was ready to have my eyes opened (whoops there I go again with that visual-orientation). I know that lots of people have more courage than I do. What was so intriguing about this piece was the vulnerability of the presentation, a kind of story-telling that took us along on the journey around the world, the blind performer before us showing us a great deal about how it works without ever leaving the theatre.

Alex Bulmer and Enzo Massara (photo: Dahlia Katz)

The piece (forgive me if I skip the big title) was “several years in the making“, they tell us. That’s no surprise when we read about the author’s history from the program:

In 2014, the Winston Churchill Trust funded Alex Bulmer to pursue a Blind travel writing project inspired by the nineteenth century British Blind travel writer James Holman. She was later commissioned to turn her travel writing into five essays for BBC radio. These essays are the foundation of this play and led to the creation of a new Canadian theatre collective with Leah Cherniak and Laura Philipps called Fire and Rescue Team.

It’s very romantic the way Alex speaks of James Holman, a real adventurer from another century. But I fear it all sounds too dry, the way I’m speaking of this.

The cool stories Alex tells of James Holman (which I won’t tell as I believe in a spoiler free writeup) remind me that disability and ability are at least partly performative. Just as he was acting out a brave bold persona, so too Alex in her presentation. I am raising the issue of disability very carefully for fear of sending the wrong message.

Alex has reminded me of how much I miss travel. I was in NYC in January 2020 and since then haven’t been out of Ontario. We are socialized by encounters with others, whether we speak their language or not. This little travelogue is a genuine tour de force, sometimes warm and fuzzy, sometimes a nudge to remind us how fortunate we are.

Alex Bulmer (foreground) and Enzo Massara (photo: Dahlia Katz)

The relatively bare stage is apt for a show inviting us to identify and perhaps wonder: “what might it be like?” We don’t need an actual bed or airplane to be taken on a trip with Alex and Enzo and James. Leah Cherniak directs this minimalist show. There’s not much there and that’s a good thing. I closed my eyes a few times, listening rather than staring, swept up in sensory images.

It was a trip.

PERCEPTUAL ARCHAEOLOGY (or How To Travel Blind) continues at Crow’s Studio Theatre until June 25th.

Posted in Dance, theatre & musicals, Psychology and perception, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Gimeno and TSO: old music made new

I will quietly keep calling Gustavo Gimeno the Toronto Symphony’s “new” music director in my head, but maybe not for the reason you think.

Yes he started in 2021, delayed over a year by the pandemic’s impacts on performing arts. But every time I go to a TSO concert he’s conducting I find myself challenged to hear music differently. Gimeno is re-training our ears with the bold combinations of music we encounter at Roy Thomson Hall, as the curator of what we hear and how we hear it.

Not only has he conducted a lot of new pieces, including world premiere compositions such as the two in last night’s concert, but in the process he re-calibrates the way the rest of the program sounds as well:

-Des(re)pair: Celebration Prelude by Eliot Britton
-I Want to Be Alive (Echo/Narcissus – First Part of Trilogy for Orchestra) by Daníel Bjarnason
-Piano Concerto No. 24, K. 491 by Mozart with pianist Víkingur Ólafsson
(intermission)
-Symphonie fantastique by Berlioz

Hindsight is 20-20 of course, so I can see the cleverness of the TSO programming now that I’ve heard it and can try to explain its magic retrospectively.

Three compositions with big loud orchestras surround a Mozart piano concerto, the jewel set in starkly contrasting velvets. That jewel was courtesy of the unique artistry of Víkingur Ólafsson, his suave sound and musicianship unafraid to playing long lyrical passages softly: something that’s much harder to do than you’d expect.

Pianist Víkingur Ólafsson

The original cadenza he created for the first movement unexpectedly showed us a virtuosity reminiscent of Liszt, playing not just an eloquent piano solo but seemingly taking us into a transcription of the orchestral exposition as well complete with heroic octaves. And yet the whole was still on a size & scale appropriate for a Mozart concerto.

I noticed that Mozart employs woodwinds in ways you wouldn’t expect, as they seem to take over for parts of second and third movements. The larghetto includes a dialogue resembling call and response between piano and woodwinds. The episodic finale takes us into different sound-worlds in each segment. The way Mozart encourages us to listen to every note and its colours led us nicely into Berlioz after intermission, recalling that the introduction to that piece begins softly with the woodwinds.

But before the concerto we’d heard two works employing a huge orchestra, often encouraging us to ask:

…what am I hearing?
…what instruments are those?
…how did they do that?

The question is really a matter of orchestration.

To begin the concert Eliot Britton’s Celebration Prelude grabs you right away, a satisfying array of sounds, effects and timbres. The program note by the composer (mentioning Berlioz’s nightmare in Symphonie fantastique) would suggest that Britton was likely aware of the way his music was to be programmed and used, perhaps even a bit intimidated, daunted by having to prepare something to be heard alongside such a formidable specimen, one of our touchstones of creativity and romanticism. While his program note speaks of the challenges of being a composer, his composition also speaks, to suggest he’s fearless. This short piece seems larger than life even as it may have articulated some of that fear, breaking through to the other side by dramatizing his predicament. I think the program note may have been fun to write even if it sounds a bit like a recollection the morning after an ordeal, delivered with a big sigh of relief.

As I applauded I wondered if the complaint implicit in the program note is in some respects a chance to brag, given that music on this scale must be larger than life, with no room for a shrinking violet. The composer seemed to have overcome his demons, at least for the moment. I bravo’d enthusiastically.

The main thing I took away from that first piece though was to wonder about how he made certain sounds, peering at the orchestra trying to ascertain which instruments were playing to make that intriguing mix. Where Britton’s piece and its title made a lot of sense to me in its few minutes, I wasn’t quite so clear about the second piece, by Daníel Bjarnason. While there were a few places where something in the music was repeated I didn’t have a sense of Echo, let alone something/someone as complex as Narcissus. Perhaps it’s meaningful to the composer at some level? but without more explanation of his process, it meant little to me as I wasn’t able to reconcile the myths to the music.

There were passionate sounds, beautiful effects, and an absorbing composition holding our attention for 20 minutes, which is a wonderful achievement. While I don’t know what it might mean it was enjoyable and again I applauded enthusiastically. It was good that for both of these premieres we were able to applaud the person of the composer, coming up to take their well-deserved bow. Just as with Britton’s piece there were moments when I wondered about Bjarnason’s creation. How did they make that sound?

So I thought as we went into the Mozart that perhaps the question of orchestration was central to the program, recalling that Berlioz is known as one of the best orchestrators, Symphonie fantastique being a uniquely original assembly of sounds and timbres and effects, bows dancing on strings to suggest ghosts and ghouls, bells ringing during a witches sabbath. And so when those two big modern-sounding pieces were followed by the delicacy of Mozart, it helped attune us to softness and subtlety, perhaps to perform the impossible. What we may wonder was it like to hear Berlioz as he sounded to the ear of the listeners in 1830? That’s a mere 44 years after the Mozart concerto premiered. While Berlioz is called a romantic he is also a classicist firmly grounded in forms and traditions. There’s sonata form to the first movement (once you get past the long introduction) complete with repeats (and thank you Gustavo Gimeno for observing them, as I am old enough to remember a time when they weren’t observed) development and a recapitulation. The programming of this concert invites us to feel this work emerging from its time, consistent with the classical impulse even as the romantic wants to burst free of such restraints.

Gustavo Gimeno in rehearsal (photo: Allan Cabral)

Full disclosure: I wasn’t sure about the program, but Berlioz is my favorite composer, under-represented in concert halls possibly because he’s expensive, calling for big orchestras requiring lots of rehearsal. So I would have been there no matter what they put alongside the Berlioz.

Gimeno gave us a very subdued and introspective start to the work, the opening phrases spaced properly between silences as though we were overhearing a soloist (the mind of the orchestra) sing a recitative, as though a series of thoughts from a character in a drama. When the exposition begins with that statement of the main theme, we’re off to the races, Gimeno happily propelling his team like a charioteer proud of the horses at his command, the TSO never sounding better. They played up the theatrical aspect of the work, placing a pair of harps at each edge of the stage to make their back and forth resemble the sounds you used to hear in stereo head-phones. Am I dating myself?

This is a reading of the piece that’s quick, the way I prefer my Berlioz. He’s challenging to any orchestra and to the ear who may miss details. TSO can sound very transparent in Roy Thomson Hall, provided that there is attention to balance. So for much of the work Gimeno held back his team as far as their volume, even if the chariot was flying along at a good pace, saving the chops of the brass for the climactic passages that end four of the five movements. That also increases the drama. Maybe we’ve heard Berlioz too much from modernist conductors (those who are known for their Wagner and their Mahler) without proper recognition for its classicism, its vestiges of episodic construction. That’s another benefit of hearing Berlioz right after Mozart. While we may bring our mental pigeon holes to the concert hall the music may not really fit as we’ve previously understood it.

I felt I heard it anew.

The concert (a good one in my opinion) is repeated Thursday and Saturday.

Posted in Music and musicology, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Inge(new): in search of a musical criticism

Last night I saw Inge(new): In Search of a Musical from Theatre Myth Collective, a piece by Evan Tsitsias that challenges its audience from the beginning, reminding me at times of an intelligence test. I don’t mean like an IQ test so much as a theatre test, requiring someone savvy at decoding theatre codes and seeing between the lines.

I believe that a good show raises questions. The best art reminds us of the objectives of artists in the world, both in showing us their special gifts as well as reflecting upon their predicament in the world. The nerds I know and admire see it that way. As I ponder how to respond to a new musical that seems to raise a lot of questions about the medium and how to respond to it, I recognize that it’s holding up a mirror to all of us.

So there’s a caveat with my response to Inge(new), that if you’re looking for a good time with songs you know, as in Mamma Mia or an old-time book musical, this show is not for you. We’re more in the realm of Pirandello (recalling that the title of this play vaguely echoes one of his plays) or Ionesco, a world as absurd as our own. I’m not sure how to speak of a show that reminds us so much of reality, when I know some are at times struggling to hang onto their sanity in the wake of COVID and the devastation in the arts sector. Inge(new) is at least superficially a comedy, although the laughs are often of the painful variety. There are places in this show where I was the only one laughing, other places where I was silent while others giggled nervously. I’m hesitant about applying a genre label to Evan’s new play, indeed scared of labels generally as they can be misleading.

It’s why I backtrack to the question of criticism itself, asking “why am I here.” I think it’s worth distinguishing between the reviewer and the critic. Excuse me if I sound pretentious in this but haha when speaking of a show as ambitious as this one we’re all being pretentious, so I hope I can be forgiven, absolved with all the artists. I will misquote Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who when speaking of the church and Christ, said the following:

Let’s speak instead of art rather than the church and substitute “criticism” in this equation, to suggest the difference between the reviewer (who functions in the commercial realm to sell tickets and advise the audience what’s worth seeing) and the critic, who is another sort of dramaturg, assisting in the analysis and understanding of drama itself. The reviewer may write to flex their influence or power, in which case they’re as corrupt as the churches Bonhoeffer would caution us to avoid. A critic is in service to the art and to the artists. If they’re not helping and serving they’re not doing it right.

That’s my preamble to suggest that Inge(new) is not an easy play and should not be judged the way popular musicals are judged. Never mind mainstream / commercial aspirations, when you’re being this ambitious. Its drama is generated out of the tension of an audition situation, Bridget (Mairi Babb) directing questions at the director for whom she’s auditioning. We’ll also meet the much younger Joy (Elora Joy Sarmiento) who’s also auditioning and Gertrude (Astrid Van Wieren) who is older still. The problematics of the title begin to come into focus as we are reminded of how the audition process is conditioned by expectations around casting, and the ambiguities around age. It’s something that has long fascinated me, the way middle aged opera singers get cast as Butterfly (age 15) or Juliet (age 12). In fairness, when opera and operetta (aka musicals before WW II) required virtuoso singers the audience was expected to check their requirement for verisimilitude at the door, singing somehow compensating for what our eyes told us. That was far easier to do sitting far away from the stage, than in our time of high definition broadcasts and close-up camera work.

Which is a good time to mention how perfect Red Sandcastle Theatre works as the venue for this premiere, a narrow strip of theatre putting the performers right in your face. You can see exactly how old they are, including Cory O’Brien who was especially vulnerable in his portrayal of Max.

Joy (Elora Joy Sarmiento) sits on the lap of Max (Cory O’Brien) as Bridget (Mairi Babb) watches
(photo: Dahlia Katz)

Inge(new) is provocative. There’s tons of tension between the characters, enormous drama as we tippy-toe along the knife-edge between comedy and tragedy. Whenever a song begins there’s some relief although we may still be playing with levels of meta-theatre, the question of whether this is real or allusion, imagined or actual. It’s quite delightful even if at the same time, it’s a reminder of what a shit-show theatre can be, especially if you’re a woman. I wrote a review recently with the headline “Macbeth closing performance: women have it harder”: as I observed that in the spring Canadian Opera Company season, one show (Tosca) was cast all by males save for a soprano (Tosca), while the other (Macbeth) was all men but for two women (Lady Macbeth and her lady in waiting). It can be every bit as challenging (aka unfair) in the realms of straight theatre or musicals.

By a funny coincidence the opera review talks about an understudy who went on when the soprano got sick. Similarly Mairi Babb bravely took on the lead role of Bridget eight days before the show opened. Mairi is the anchor of the show, rock solid throughout.

The vicarious composer in me wishes the show had a slightly different approach, wanting more satire and comedy. The play is very serious, at times very painful to watch. I think it could be lighter with more music, perhaps employing something parodic, sending up the situations it would explore. All the music is excellent, don’t get me wrong, music director Kieren MacMillan does a great job noodling away under the action, totally self-effacing, the songs emerging in the most organic way out of the situations. But I think this show is a bit too narrow and nerdy in its focus, thereby losing the chance to really change hearts and convert people to its cause. It has the potential to be profound, but because it’s a tad too long, becoming a bit exhausting. In fairness I should explain that I also find Hamlet and Lear exhausting. I say this in the interest of seeing this show grow and evolve into a really brilliant work next time, as I hope there must be a next time for such a worthy project.

Inge(new): In Search of a Musical continues until June 4th at Red Sandcastle Theatre.

Posted in Dance, theatre & musicals, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Tosca on my mind

Tosca is on my mind after the final performance yesterday.

Several of Puccini’s melodies are having their way with me, stuck in my head. I’m not complaining. But I can’t stop thinking about the opera and the Canadian Opera Company’s production. Erika and I attended the closing matinee Saturday, leading to this. I sometimes speak of Pollyanna as my alter-ego, that I promise that above all I must not do any harm in reviews. When the show is closed, however perhaps I can say a few things..?

I love Tosca almost more than any opera I know of, given that I’m unable to see Pelléas or Parsifal anytime soon. Is it perhaps time for critics to give it a rest about the critiques from Shaw, Britten and Joseph Kerman? If Tosca is a shabby shocker, what does that make Hitchcock’s Vertigo, ranked the greatest movie of all time a few years ago by the British Film Institute. Tosca is a flawless creation, arguably the greatest of Puccini’s operas and like Wagner 2.0 with its subtle use of themes in an opera that gets so much done quickly and economically, while packing in audiences time after time. I saw the COC show twice, the second time on my own $ via my COC subscription. And for what it’s worth, as I discussed renewing our subscription with Erika over the past few weeks, nothing was more persuasive than hearing Stefano La Colla sing “E lucevan le stelle.” Thank you Puccini, for persuading Erika to renew.

Stefano La Colla and Keri Alkema (photo: Michael Cooper)

Let me also speak briefly about one of Kerman’s worst phrases in Opera as Drama, when he speaks of the way Tosca ends. He says “Tosca leaps, and the orchestra screams the first thing that comes into its head.” The orchestra give us that same plaintive melody, “E lucevan le stelle” but this time, not softly. It’s a reminder of the precious moments in life that we cherish. Yet why would it be bad for an orchestra to scream the first thing that comes into its head? Orchestras represent emotion, not contrived fake drama. An orchestra being honest and emotional? Kerman must be jealous at some deep level of what happens at this moment, that Puccini is so insightful and clever in the way he constructs Act III of Tosca.

I wonder though, have we lost touch with how the work was written, how it was framed for the audiences in 1900 and shortly thereafter? I’m thinking of the context of Christianity that frames the work. Tosca is pious, Cavaradossi is not, and Scarpia nods toward convention even if he’s a complete hypocrite. Let me enlarge on that, as I think there are some things in Paul Curran’s production for the COC that are more aligned with the values of 2023 than with the time of the opera’s premiere in 1900, let alone the time of its setting, 1800. I get that from the mention of the Battle of Marengo, which was on June 14 1800.

Let me mention a few things where maybe we’ve lost track of the story and Puccini.

Angelotti is a refugee who hides in a church. If you recall the Hunchback of Notre Dame, the idea of sanctuary is fundamental, that anyone great or poor can find shelter in a church. That Angelotti must run away is bad enough. Scarpia comes barging into the church with his “Un tal baccano in Chiesa! Bel rispetto!” He enters as the defender of the faith, not its violator. In the COC production we see him obsess over Tosca while the Te Deum begins. And then Roland Wood strides past the priest and the assembled ceremony as though it were nothing, as though this priest were a nobody. Sorry that’s wrong (although this is surely what the director asked, as it was the same the last time we saw this production a few years ago). He supposedly comes to his senses (or as it says in the score “riavendosi come da un sogno” : coming back as though from a dream) to say Tosca, mi fai dimenticare Iddio!… (“Tosca you makeme forget God!”). The score tells us that he crosses himself, kneels and prays devoutly, as opposed to walking past the priest without any sign of respect. Benito Mussolini in the 1930s would have been more respectful than what we saw from our Scarpia.

Roland Wood as Scarpia (downstage, left) in the Te Deum climaxing Act One of Tosca (Photo: Michael Cooper)

Okay, modern productions are permitted to take liberties. Of course we’re constantly watching modernized versions, impacted by our changing attitudes. Tosca is supposedly devout. While Keri Alkema really plays this (although a critic I know felt she was too restrained, preferring the edgier approach of Sinéad Campbell-Wallace ) it becomes problematic when the storyline is no longer consistent. Tosca (Sinéad that is) throws the fan at the painting, something rather over-the-top even if it’s an exciting moment, tears up the sketches and throws them like confetti in the church. If she’s devout would she do that? I ask this as a 21st century Christian Protestant, who feels some need to bow towards a sanctuary when I’m in it, let alone if I visit a Catholic church, which is usually even more formal about such things than a Protestant space. If I’m feeling that, surely a devout Christian woman of 1800 would be respectful. When she kills Scarpia and then says she forgives him, it shouldn’t evoke laughter (which I’ve heard in modern performances), even if yes that seems odd to us nowadays that she kills him and then forgives him. But I think it’s written in context with her piety, to represent her horror at what she’s done, leading her to put the cross on his chest as she’s leaving the body behind. And when Tosca calls out her final defiant line I believe she’s speaking out of piety, saying “O Scarpia, avanti a Dio!” (Oh Scarpia, before God!) to say that she’s confident he is more evil and her actions would be excused by God. Yes it’s a Sarah Bernhardt kind of moment, a histrionic instant to conclude. But it’s a reminder that God is there from beginning to end.

I still have Tosca’s music running through my head, partly because I remember the show from yesterday, partly because I pulled out the score to look at a few moments that I love. From my childhood it changed how I think. I may have been a fool to take Cavaradossi so seriously but there it is, I love his sensuous outlook on life, his appreciation of beauty, his willingness to help his friend and to cheer for Napoleon’s victory (as did so many before and after…Beethoven too) over the tyranny of his home.

While I love Pelléas and adore Parsifal and admire Les Troyens, Tosca always fills seats. And I will be there to see and hear it next time they produce it. To me it’s perfect. It never gets old.

Posted in Opera, Personal ruminations & essays | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Apocryphonia: A Cabinet of Curiosities

There’s so much one can say about last night’s Apocryphonia concert “A Cabinet of Curiosities”, but I’ll try to keep it under control. I talked my head off with tenor Alexander Cappellazzo, who is the founder of Apocryphonia and the Diapente Renaissance Vocal Quintet, two Toronto-based groups dedicated to showcasing underperformed repertoire, the tenor starring in a recent opera by the Chevalier St George, L’Amant anonyme, impressing with his easy delivery and fearless command of his upper register.

I missed Diapente on the weekend of May 12, otherwise occupied, but determined not to miss this one.

In “underperformed repertoire” we’re encountering works from seven composers, six of whom I had never heard of before plus a seventh whom I admire (Hanns Eisler, whose music is rarely heard).

Here’s the program I downloaded, although two of the works listed by Yamada (# 5 and 7b) were omitted last night. Pianist Cecilia Nguyentran played all 34 pieces.

There were 19 piano solos plus 15 songs/ arias that require the piano, so while Alexander got breaks, Cecilia did not.

We were in the Cecil Community Centre, a lovely little venue with seating for 50 people that was completely filled up, an ideal performance situation allowing the artists to connect directly with the audience.

There was an added wrinkle to the process, namely the way the pieces were assembled. Instead of giving us the usual series all by one composer, we accomplished a kind of shuffle, as you might get from your electronic device. We were asked upon entry to pick from a jar, and then our picks would be constructed into a set list. I cheated because of whom I wanted to hear (Eisler), although that likely had no impact. Alexander joked that this made us complicit, that we helped create the program.

The magic jar in the foreground only had a few pieces left when I took this picture. Notice how the program is being assembled on the page.

I was a skeptic, thinking “but these are new to us, how is this going to work, if we disrupt the usual sequence…?“ But I was so wrong. There’s much to learn in coming at each movement each song afresh as though it’s a separate thing a separate beginning a fresh attack beginning anew in each piece, listening as though from first principles, without assumptions. I wish we could try that with something familiar, to de-familiarize de-construct the usual experience. What if we had Beethoven & Handel and Debussy, movements/chunks mixed in this random manner? I think it could be wonderful to hear the works we think we know, to change our thinking and make them new again.

Perhaps this is how we should always listen?

The last song was possibly the most interesting of all… was this by accident? A fluke caused by the programming algorithm /the game of selection? Perhaps.

“The mermaid” by Capel, is a stunning song more for baritone than tenor: with an interpolated high note Alexander added (as he told me after, when I resumed talking his ear off,.,,,).

The piano part includes the sounds of an oceanic turbulence, the watery grave of which we should be afraid, as each verse tumbles headlong downwards…. There’s a pattern in part of each verse that put me in mind of Debussy’s Sirenes, the perfect rhythms of nature’s organic and unstoppable energies. Yet this is a song not out of place in a bar, a ballad to caution young men lured to their deaths. Capel is a Canadian whose work deserves to be better known. Every one of these six songs was worth hearing.

I could comment on each composer, but am more inclined to want to dig up their scores and discover this music for myself.

Felix Blumenfeld? We heard 4 excerpts from his 10 Moments lyriques (1898), the last to put me in mind of a Chopin prelude from the 24 Op 28 with its wild octaves employed in chromatic ventures up and down the keyboard. Cecilia made remarkably bold sonorities from the upright piano.

Nicanor Abelardo is a Filipino composer whose three pieces from the 1920s included an Ave Maria with a high B (if my ear didn’t fail me), a prayer Alex chose to sing in a bold performative manner (presumably observing the dynamics as written)

Helen Hopekirk’s three Scottish songs encouraged Alexander to sing each one with a delightful colour and accent. They’re stunningly beautiful.

The concert was recorded, I hope it will be available possibly on video but certainly audio.

I will be watching to see what they’re up to next.

Posted in Music and musicology, Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pete Davidson’s Bupkis

Pete Davidson’s new series Bupkis is in the twilight zone between reality tv and fiction.  It’s a kind of fiction made from reality…? I’m not sure, perhaps I’m giving it too much credit. It feels original.

And so we watch Pete Davidson play a version of himself. Not only does he show us mail addressed to Pete Davidson but he’s living in his mom’s basement on Staten Island, just as we’ve heard on Saturday Night Live and in the media.  

In the first episode his mom (played by Edie Falco) comes downstairs just as he’s jerking off, getting sprayed. 

If that bothers you this show is not for you.  

So we watched the first episode, which ran 33 minutes.  It was intense, impressive writing and great performances. The dialogue flows as spontaneously as the various bodily fluids.

Their cup runneth over.

This version of Davidson shows the same vulnerability to what we saw in Davidson’s film debut, King of Staten Island, someone mocked for the life he’s leading. What’s different in this show is that even as he’s mocked and sad about his life, we’re often reminded of his celebrity.  He’s constantly asked to pose with fans for selfies and photos.

Is he complaining or boasting? I can’t tell. But the title (from the yiddish word for nothing) is apt for such a self-deprecatory performer.

We meet Davidson’s grandfather, played abrasively by Joe Pesci. He’s apparently dying although IMDB tells us he’s going to last at least eight episodes, perhaps a bit like Brian Cox, whose presence redeemed many episodes of Succession.  In this first episode Davidson has heard that his grandpa is sick, and so arranges to take him out for a night with a hooker, with Uncle Roy (played by basso profundo Brad Garrett) invited along.   

IMDB tells me that in the series we’ll get to see Al Gore, Steve Buscemi, Jane Curtin, Kenan Thompson, Jon Stewart, even Garrett’s bro from another show, Ray Romano.

There’s a lot going on in a very short time. Not only did we laugh but we’ll watch the next episode.

With the WGA strike dragging on, stopping programs such as Davidson’s alma mater Saturday Night Live, Bupkis’s timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Posted in Popular music & culture | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Baroque Music from the Greatest Movies of All Time: Polina Osetinskaya, Virtuoso Pianist

VIRTUOSO PIANIST POLINA OSETINSKAYA LAUNCHES HER NORTH AMERICAN TOUR WITH A SOLO RECITAL DEBUT AT KOERNER HALL, SATURDAY JUNE 3

Baroque Music from the Greatest Movies of All Time
“Clear and flawless articulation at every level, and an earnest demeanour.” – Gramophone, U.K.

“Plainly a pianist of a superior order” – KlassiskMusikk, Norway

“Her crystalline articulation drawing rich colours from the keyboard” – Ludwig Van Toronto, Canada

The sublime virtuoso pianist and human rights advocate Polina Osetinskaya returns to Toronto for her Canadian solo debut featuring music from some of the greatest films of all time. Show One Productions and Cherry Orchard Festival present Baroque Music from the Greatest Movies of All Time ─ a sprawling program featuring works by Bach, Handel, Purcell, and Rameau. Saturday, June 3, 8 p.m. at Koerner Hall, 273 Bloor Street West. This solo debut launches the tour of a program that will also be presented at Boston’s Berklee Performance Center, San Francisco’s Herbst Theater, the Lighthouse Artspace Chicago, and New York’s Kaufman Concert Hall at the 92Y. Tickets, starting at $48, may be obtained at the hall box office or online. More info is also online at https://showoneproductions.ca.

Music by Bach, Handel, Purcell, and Rameau have been prominently featured in movie soundtracks like Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather, Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon, Jean-Paul Genet’s Casanova, not to mention in films by Tarkovsky, Greenaway, and Bergman. These works have become some of the most popular and enduring musical masterpieces in history. In Baroque music, Osetinskaya has found a harmonious companion for cinema classics that, for her, “Gives you a feeling of being protected. Baroque music is much more objective than music of the 19th century, for example. Everyone, and every emotion, can be found in this music.”

Osetinskaya’s genuine charm and impeccable attention to musical detail will make you understand why she rose to international acclaim as a soloist in demand by the greatest conductors on stage today from Carnegie Hall to Vienna’s Musikverein and London’s Barbican Centre. She began her career at the age of five and was soon recognized as a wunderkind, giving her first solo concert at the age of six and going on to study with Marina Wolf and Vera Gornostaeva. She’s since performed on international stages ranging from Rome’s Teatro Argentina, to Germany, Poland, Israel, Tokyo, the United States, and more. She’s also collaborated with the likes of Maxim Vengerov, Alexander Knyazev, Julian Milkis, Theodor Currentzis, and more. Osetinskaya is also a published author with a harrowing reflection on her childhood in her memoir, Farewell Sadness. Hers is a contemplative mind with reflections across a wide horizon, creating in various genres, including on the theatrical stage wherein she both acts and performs as a musician.

Osetinskaya has been a life-long human rights advocate, supporting political prisoners, performing charity recitals for patients in hospice care, and working as a trustee for Oxygen Foundation to support children with cystic fibrosis. Elsewhere, she has been vocal about her anti-war stance while remaining in Moscow, and has faced cancellation of her concerts in all state and government concert halls. In an interview with VAN Magazine, Osetinskaya reflected on how her childhood has prepared her to adapt to this censorship: “I remember when I was seven, [I] would go to the concerts of the big rock groups like Aquarium that were playing concerts in private apartments. This kind of underground culture of the early ‘80s is suddenly coming back. I’ll continue to play in those places, because the people who can’t leave Russia or prefer to stay in their own country and fight as they can for truth need art and music to heal their pain.”

PROGRAM

JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH (1685—1750)

The Talented Mr. Ripley, 1999; Dir. Anthony Minghella
1) Italian Concerto in F
Allegro
Andante
Presto

Solaris, 1972; Dir. Andrey Tarkovsky
2) Chorale prelude “Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ” (“I cry to you, Lord”)

Fingers, 1978; Dir. James Toback
3) Toccata in E minor
Toccata
Adagio
Fuga

Breaking the Waves, 1996; Dir. Lars von Trier
4) Sonata No. 2 in E-flat for flute and harpsichord (attributed to Bach)
II: Siciliano


The Godfather
, 1972; Dir. Francis Ford Coppola
5) Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor

GEORGE FRIDERIC HANDEL (1685—1759)
Barry Lyndon, 1975; Dir. Stanley Kubrick
1) Suite No. 4 in D minor
III:  Sarabande

HENRY PURCELL (1659—1695)


The Draftsman’s Contract
“, 1982; Dir. Peter Greenaway
1) Ground in C minor

JEAN-PHILIPPE RAMEAU (1683 -1764)


4 days in France
, 2016; Dir. Jerome Raybaud
1) From “Pièces de Clavecin” in E minor

2) Le rappel des oiseaux (The calling of birds)

The Maid, 2016; Dir. Pan Chang Uk
3) Tambourin (Tambourine)


Casanova, 2015; Dir. Jean-Pierrel Jeneut
4) La villageoise (The Villager)

5) From “Pièces de Clavecin” in D
Les tendres plaintes (Tender complaints)
Les Niais de Sologne (The Fools of Solon)
Les Soupirs (Sighs)
La Joyeuse (The Joyful)
L’entretien des Muses (Conversation of the Muses)
Les Cyclopes (Cyclops)

Autumn Sonata, 1978; Dir. Ingmar Bergman
2) Chaconne with variations in G

Press releases and announcements” are presented verbatim without comment

Posted in Press Releases and Announcements | Leave a comment