A photo of the iconic “Red House” on Monhegan Island. I took this last October, and we’ll return there in August 2012.
“Nessun dorma” is getting its regular 15 minutes of fame again. The tenor showpiece from Puccini’s last opera Turandot was a Pavarotti trademark and turns up in lots of contexts that evoke literal or metaphorical triumph. In the opera, it’s the tenor who triumphs, at least if he can sing the full high B that closes the aria. He also wins the heart of the icy soprano (who basically has a sing-off with him in the previous act.)
The music appears pretty regularly in pop culture; remember the 1990 World Cup? It was an effective signature tune for that, and one senses Puccini probably was smiling. What’s caught my ear more recently is it appearance on TV talent competitions over the last couple of years, including last month’s “American’s Got Talent.”
To wit, two examples:
Here’s Paul Potts from Britain’s Got Talent: 1k08yxu57NA
Or Luiz Meneghin from the U.S. version.
Generally, I’m all for any visibility for opera at all. Although neither of these people really sing the aria all that well, it hardly matters. They are both amiable types and the Brazilian guy has some character to his voice. More power to them. Nobody who loves opera should turn up his or her nose at competitions, as they are certainly prevalent in this art form and in classical music generally. We should be so lucky that millions might get as engaged in the plight of young operatic talent as they do with the contestants on the “Idols” and Got Talents. Maybe a viewer will watch and get intrigued? The YouTube counter on Potts is at an astonishing 95 million.
The problem for me is that what these 95 million are watching is barely barely “Nessun Dorma,” but a ridiculous truncation of it. In its original form, it’s not a long aria: about three and a half minutes. Apparently that is 90 seconds too long for TV, as the contestants cut the middle out.
Is the fear that audiences will bail because it’s ‘operatic’ and thus broadcast poison? Is this most direct and accessible of opera composers really too recondite? Does every aspect of music have to fit the Procrustean bed of a TV show format?
I don’t know what effect the shortened version of the aria would make on somebody who hadn’t heard it before. Although the studio audiences and judges certainly seem pretty verklempt after hearing only the opening and the last bit. To me, that triumphal high B doesn’t make musical or dramatic sense in the shortened version, as nothing builds to it. Is three minutes really beyond our attention span for music (although not for the surrounding talk)? Did the audience in the theater actually hear the whole thing? Then why not show it?
Whatever the reason, everybody’s seem a little scared of the full three and a half minutes of romantic vocal glory. The great Swedish tenor Jussi Björling wasn’t, and you shouldn’t be either. Here he is.
I’ll leave it for another post to talk about what made Björling’s voice so affecting.
Jeremy Nicholas on the ‘Lost Romantics,’ composers lauded in their era and after who are now footnotes: Spohr, Meyerbeer, perhaps even my beloved CPE Bach. This ‘falling out of the canon’ is more common than one would think in all realms of endeavor: John Sutherland has a recent wonderful Sir Walter Scott piece in TLS. The first superstar best seller, now largely forgotten except for the odd legacy of a “Waverly” Street or Avenue in thousands of U.S. cities. Nicholas makes the case for Ludwig Sphor (could it be the unfortunate name that did him in for posterity?). Calls his clarinet concerti delightful, a judgement that Naxos Music Library confirms.
The Lost Romantics
In his opening number, the eponymous Mikado in Gilbert & Sullivan’s operetta sings of the music-hall singer who attends a series of ‘masses and fugues and ’ops / By Bach, interwoven / With Spohr and Beethoven, / At classical Monday Pops.’ Yes, Ludwig (or Louis as he called himself in his autobiography) Spohr was a familiar enough name to be cited alongside Beethoven and Bach. True, Gilbert needed a composer with a single-syllable name to fit his verse scansion, but neither Gluck, Grieg, Liszt, Raff nor even Johann Strauss conveyed the desired effect quite as effectively as Spohr. Spohr was simply part of the canon in those days.
Finished Jude the Obscure today. Read it over months, as I might have in a periodical (how I assume it was originally published); if anything, this made it more harrowing and darkly illuminating.
The elegance and style of the sentences add a cool irony to the grim anti-romantic tenor of the whole thing. Of the many depth charges in the book, the assessment of the drive to academic study and achievement cut closest to the bone for me.
He’s also pretty hard on organized religion and the agonies of marriage. At some point, Jude says he was born 50 years too early, it seems to me even more than a century later, we’re still caught–or at least I’m still caught–in many of these constricting social garments.
More mundanely: the rhythm of the writing leaves me in awe. An example:
It was indeed open country, wide and high. They talked and bounded on, Jude cutting from a little covert a long walking-stick for Sue as tall as herself, with a great crook, which made her look like a shepherdess. About half-way on their journey they crossed a main road running due east and west—the old road from London to Land’s End. They paused, and looked up and down it for a moment, and remarked upon the desolation which had come over this once lively thoroughfare, while the wind dipped to earth and scooped straws and hay-stems from the ground.
They crossed the road and passed on, but during the next half-mile Sue seemed to grow tired, and Jude began to be distressed for her. They had walked a good distance altogether, and if they could not reach the other station it would be rather awkward. For a long time there was no cottage visible on the wide expanse of down and turnip-land; but presently they came to a sheepfold, and next to the shepherd, pitching hurdles. He told them that the only house near was his mother’s and his, pointing to a little dip ahead from which a faint blue smoke arose, and recommended them to go on and rest there.
This they did, and entered the house, admitted by an old woman without a single tooth, to whom they were as civil as strangers can be when their only chance of rest and shelter lies in the favour of the householder.
“A nice little cottage,” said Jude.
“Oh, I don’t know about the niceness….”
More later about how the book affected me if I can manage it. If had nothing else, making a commonplace life as worthy of a grand tragedy as a great figure would make it a remarkable book.
My partner Jim saw 3-D printing technology in action 10 years ago at a company on the Rt. 128 tech corridor outside Boston, MA. At that stage it was still just small machine parts and demos. Now it’s custom-order guitars, with increasingly gee-whiz possibilities on the horizon.
From the article.
He is working with printer maker 3D Systems in the US to make Gibson Les Paul-style bodies from poly ether ether ketone (PEEK), which has similar rigidity to wood. Combined with 3D printing’s ability to produce objects with complex internal shapes, this offers a range of accoustic possibilities.
“That’s where you can have enormous fun with having each string resonate to a different acoustic chamber.”
Diegel expects to have a guitar on the 3D Systems stand at the 3D Printshow in London in October, which has the tagline “The world is about to change again”.
An open secret among people who work closely with foundation support, as I used to. Philanthropy has taken on the trappings of venture capital, and not often for the better.
I’m particularly unsettled by the outsized influence Gates Foundation has had on school reform, which should–messy though it is–be a democratic political process, not a question of oligarchs saying “this is what school is for.”
A strong article from The Awl.
Meanwhile, without any significant public claims on foundation largess, the general run of charitable spending in the United States has taken on the protective coloration of American business culture. At every level, charitable grants have come more and more to resemble investment projects, with a specific, measurable return on equity in mind. Among the dozens of sources I’ve interviewed on the state of the foundation world, every one has singled out this trend as a major shift.
English spelling is notoriously inconsistent, and some have gone further, calling it “the world’s most awesome mess” or “an insult to human intelligence” (both these from linguists, one American, one Austrian). Maybe this is just because our alphabet only has twenty-six letters to represent more than forty phonemes, or distinctive speech-sounds, and some of those – notably q and x – are not pulling their weight, while j is not allowed to (see “John” but also “George”). If we gave s and z a consistent value (“seazon”) and extended this to k and c (“klok” and “sertain”), we could free c up for other duties, such as maybe representing ch, as once it did. But then there are all the vowels . . . .
How did this unsystematic system come about? And is it really that bad? Some say that there are only a few hundred deeply irregular words, but the trouble is that most of them are common. Noam Chomsky and Morris Halle even went so far as to claim that we have “close to an optimal system”, though that takes a deal of argument to convince.
Nice nod to my friend Tim Halle’s dad, Morris.
Full review at TLS review of “The History of English Spelling”
A visit to the Freer (a DC treasure in my book) occupied my afternoon. This quote was on one of the walls:
“In the beginning, man went forth each day – some to do battle – some to the chase – others again to dig and to delve in the field – all that they might gain, and live – or lose and die. Until there was found among them, one, differing from the rest – whose pursuits attracted him not – and so he stayed by the tents, with the women, and traced strange devices, with a burnt stick, upon a gourd.
This man, who took no joy in the ways of his brethren, who cared not for conquest, and fretted in the field – this designer of quaint patterns – this deviser of the beautiful, who perceived in nature about him, curious curvings, – as faces are seen in the fire – This dreamer apart – was the first artist.” James McNeil Whistler
Sounds like me at 12, hanging around the art room instead of playing kick ball. I guess the idea of a female artist didn’t really occur to Whistler. Hard to live without him, though, and revisiting the Peacock Room, is one of the major pleasures of being back in DC.
Nocturne in Blue and Silver, James McNeil Whistler
The “Peacock Room” designed by James McNeil Whistler, and now on display at the Freer Gallery in Washington, DC.