Después de muchas semanas sin escribir en el blog, por no tener apenas tiempo, hoy me dispongo a escribir éste artículo sobre pianistas, compositores e intérpretes.

No pretendo hacer un artículo tan genial como los de mi compañero Tetrasquel, solo dar mi opinión sobre ciertas composiciones que he escuchado últimamente, que no por primera vez.

En primer lugar, quiero rajar hablar sobre Richard Clayderman, pianista francés muy reconocido (y escuchado) generalmente entre gente que no tiene ni puta idea de música. Para definir la obra de Clayderman podemos utilizar el término “música de ascensor”, porque no existe un término mas exacto.

A éste pianista se le ocurrió la brillante idea (entre otras cosas) de hacer “versiones” de obras maravillosas de Chopin, Debussy etc., orquestándolas de una manera cutre y muy hortera. Para mas información, véase su album “En su piano sin control. Grandes éxitos”, y no, no es un chiste. El álbum se llama así.

Para demostrar ésto, os dejo su interpretación de la Sonata para piano número 14 (También llamada Quasi una fantasia, Op.27, Nº2, y mal llamada Claro de Luna), de LV Beethoven. Obra que todo el mundo conoce.

ADVERTENCIA: Es de muy mal gusto. SigoPensando no se hace responsable de los efectos derivados de la escucha prolongada de la siguiente interpretación. Si la quiere escuchar, es bajo su responsabilidad.

Ahora la gran pregunta: ¿Cómo es posible que éste hombre vendiese mas de 70 millones de discos?, yo aun no lo entiendo. ¿Por qué la necesidad de orquestar una obra de tal calibre?, ¿Está mejor orquestada?, en fin…

Por si no fuera poco, ha estropeado la obra mas conocida de la Suite Bergamasque de Debussy (ésto es imperdonable). Yo no me atrevo a buscarlo en YouTube, pero os dejo para los mas valientes un link a Spotify para que se os pongan los pelos de punta. Pulsar aquí.

Para compensar el mal trago que habrá pasado el lector tras la escucha de ésta abominable y horrísona interpretación, dejo La Interpretación de Wilhelm Kempff, que es de lo mejor que he escuchado:

La siguiente persona de la quería hablar es de Maksim, un pianista realmente interesante, porque al contrario que Clayderman, sabe interpretar a la perfección obras como la Hungarian Rhapsody nº2 de Liszt, pero también hace barbaridades como orquestar el Revolutionary Etude de Chopin de la peor forma posible.

Veamos un ejemplo de la fantástica -y difícil- interpretación de la obra de Franz Liszt:

Fantástica, ¿verdad?. Además de interpretar genial la obra, Maksim está muy cachondo. Pero mucho mucho.

Ahora veamos, de la mano del mismo artista, la interpretación de Revolutionary Etude, de Chopin. Vayan preparando los oidos:

Sin comentarios…

En breves haré otro artículo recomendando alguna obra de música clásica, pero tranquilos, no habrá sobresaltos.

Un abrazo a todos.

Estive este feriado em Nova York onde pude assistir à encenação de Il Trittico, obra de Puccini que reúne 3 óperas de um ato cada: Il Tabarro, Suor Angelica e Gianni Schicchi. Assisti no Metropolitan Opera House, o mesmo lugar onde Il Trittico estreou, em 1918 (o que já foi uma felicidade à parte).

A noite teve vários pontos altos, mas na minha opinião, o maior deles foi a produção, especialmente o cenário. Esta obra tem um complicômetro a mais para a equipe de produção, já que eles tem que mudar em poucos minutos o cenário de uma ópera para outra, sendo que a primeira não tem nada a ver com a segunda que não tem nada a ver com a terceira. E nisso eles foram mestres. E os cenários, maravilhosos. Gosto de cenários tradicionais que não ficam querendo ser irreverentes e não buscam inventar a roda. Claro, a criatividade é sempre bem vinda, como a destes cenários que utilizaram perfeitamente a perspectiva distorcida para dar uma maior sensação de profundidade, a ponto de a gente achar que tinha um prédio de fábrica inteiro dentro do palco. Mas gosto quando reproduzem a estética e o clima da época que o compositor pensou para ela. Não quero ver uma ópera daquela época encenada nos dias de hoje. Hoje eu conheço. Eu quero ler a mente do compositor, até onde isso for possível.

A soprano Patricia Racette, que protagonizou as três óperas, foi muito bem, mas deixou um pouco a desejar na primeira, Il Tabarro, na minha opinião. Mas logo imaginei que talvez seu forte fossem notas mais agudas que as do seu papel de Giorgetta. Pensei que estaria melhor em Suor Angelica, por seu personagem entoar notas agudas de desespero de uma mãe que perde o filho. E comprovei, esteve muito bem. Terminei esta ópera igualmente desesperada. Ela conseguiu perfeitamente incorporar a dor daquela mãe e passar para o público. Na terceira ópera, Gianni Schicchi, sua personagem canta aquela famosa ária O Mio Babbino Caro, que por si só já é linda. Ela cantou bem. Mesmo sem ter sido uma interpretação espetacular, pois achei que faltou a súplica sarcástica que a ária pede (neste momento, a personagem pede ao pai que ajude a família do seu noivo a dar um golpe do tio rico), me deliciei.

Quem esteve espetacular foi Stephanie Blythe, que apesar de cantar no Metropolitan ainda não teve o reconhecimento que merece. É impressionante o volume e o brilho que essa mezzo-soprano tem em todas as notas. E interpreta maravilhosamente, de uma velha parisiense a uma princesa na Toscana. Roubou o show e os aplausos dos cantores principais, como já fez em outras performances no Met. Também gostei muito de Alessandro Corbelli no papel-título de Gianni Schicchi e da orquestra regida por Stefano Ranzani. Dignos do Metropolitan!!

Stephanie Blythe and Patricia Racette in the Met’s “Trittico”

Stay tuned for a review to follow.

Conductor: Stefano Ranzani
Giorgetta: Patricia Racette
Luigi: Aleksandrs Antonenko
Michele: Željko Lucic
Frugola: Stephanie Blythe
Suor Angelica: Patricia Racette
Sister Genovieffa: Heidi Grant Murphy
La Principessa: Stephanie Blythe
Lauretta: Patricia Racette
Rinuccio: Saimir Pirgu
Gianni Schicchi: Alessandro Corbelli
Zita: Stephanie Blythe

Recondita armonia di bellezze diverse!
È bruna Floria, l’ardente amante mia,
e te, beltade ignota
cinta di chiome bionde!
Tu azzurro hai l’occhio
Tosca ha l’occhio nero!
L’arte nel suo mistero
le diverse bellezze insiem confonde:
ma nel ritrar costei
il mio solo pensiero,
ah! il mio sol pensier sei tu!
Tosca, sei tu!

Translation:
What subtle harmony

What subtle harmony of different beauties!
Floria, my passionate lover is a brunette
and you, unknown beauty,
are framed by fair hair
you have blue eyes
Tosca has dark eyes
the mysterious art
mixes the different beauties together:
but while I paint her
I only think
Ah! I only think of you
Tosca, of you!

Secondo appuntamento della nona stagione lirica del Teatro Superga: La Bohème di Giacomo Puccini. Titolo amato da tutti gli appassionati d’opera che da più di un secolo immancabilmente finiscono col prendere il fazzoletto per asciugar le lacrime alla morte di Mimì: potranno vederla e ascoltarla centinaia di volte, ma non dà assuefazione, l’effetto è sempre lo stesso. Si commosse anche Puccini nel comporla ed è uno dei momenti più alti in assoluto di tutta la storia dell’opera. In fondo anche i registi, tranne qualche pazzoide iconoclasta, hanno in genere avuto rispetto di questo capolavoro, limitandosi talvolta a posporla di un secolo, aggiornando in alcuni casi la cartella clinica di Mimì (ogni secolo ha i suoi mali…): operazione comunque inutile e gratuita in quanto non apre nessuna prospettiva nuova nell’interpretazione dell’opera. Né potrebbe: La Bohème è nata già perfetta, non c’è niente da aggiungere e nulla da togliere, da sola rende immortale il suo Autore. Naturalmente l’allestimento presentato dal Teatro Superga si muove pienamente nell’ambito della tradizione con uno spettacolo di ottimo gusto sia nelle scene che nei costumi, entrambi semplici, ma non poveri, non manca nulla pur nello spazio non particolarmente esteso del suo palcoscenico. Compagnia di canto giovane e affiatata, che dà quella giusta freschezza e rende credibilissima la vicenda. D’altronde ormai anche le grandi istituzioni liriche tendono a scritturare giovanissimi per Bohème: la presenza dei divi navigati rischia di alterare un po’ l’equilibrio di un’opera dove se i protagonisti sono indubbiamente Mimì e Rodolfo, anche gli altri personaggi hanno un ruolo non secondario e il pari merito è forse la carta vincente degli allestimenti. Lo intuì il grande Bernstein che più di vent’anni fa a Roma presentò in forma di concerto una Bohème di giovanissimi, che se da un lato fece scalpore finì poi col fare scuola. I cantanti che ieri sera hanno cantato a Nichelino sono giovanissimi, ma molto preparati e con un repertorio già vasto. Gioconda Vessichelli (Mimì) vanta nel suo curriculum anche la parte di Madama Cortese del “Viaggio a Reims” affrontata al ROF 2004, è una giovane che è dotata di una notevole poliedricità, poliglotta, passa dalla Bohème (in cui ha anche in repertorio Musetta) all’operetta al Così fan tutte (ove ha in repertorio sia Fiordiligi che Despina): insomma un’artista completa.

Gioconda Vessichelli

Rodolfo era il coreano Kim Choong Sik (che col battesimo cristiano ha premesso il nome Bosco in onore del Santo piemontese), tenore di ottima scuola (Bergonzi), di bella voce, che affronta con successo anche ruoli di lirico-spinto come si può verificare da questo

Nessun Dorma cantato lo scorso anno a Lecco

che è stato bissato a gran richiesta.

Valerio Garzo (Marcello) ha un repertorio che va da Cimarosa a Mozart a Puccini. Ascoltiamolo nella parte di Ping in una Turandot dello scorso aprile a Vercelli, dove si ha anche modo di ascolare l’ottimo Silvano Paolillo (il Benoit della Bohème) nella parte di Pong

Ho una casa nell’Honan

Elisa Cenni (Musetta) è una cantante di ottima scuola (Renato Bruson), già vincitrice di concorsi, di bella e spigliata presenza scenica. Nel marzo scorso ha affrontato il ruolo di Carolina all’Opéra di Parigi nel

Matrimonio Segreto di Cimarosa

Una Musetta seducente e generosa nel mostrare il suo ben di Dio con gratificazione del pubblico maschile.

Il basso venezuelano Ernesto Morillo ha cantato ottimamente l’aria di Colline strappando meritate  ovazioni a scena aperta.

Ferruccio Finetti è stato un buon Schaunard.

Ho lasciato per ultimo colui che in realtà è stato il vero protagonista della serata: il direttore Lorenzo Castriota Skanderberg.

Lorenzo Castriota Skanderberg

Giusto un anno fa lo avevamo ascoltato dirigere “Tosca” nello stesso teatro e con la stessa orchestra e ne avevamo ammirato la indubbia capacità di valorizzare l’orchestra pucciniana. Puccini è stato un grandissimo orchestratore, forse il migliore in assoluto del melodramma italiano. Soprattutto nelle sue ultime opere l’orchestra assume un ruolo fondamentale e diventa coprotagonista. Basti dire che Ravel aveva la partitura della Fanciulla del West sul comodino da notte e la considerava un capolavoro irrangiungibile. Lo sanno i grandi della bacchetta che hanno un amore sconfinato per Puccini. Insomma Puccini necessita di un buon direttore e tale è Lorenzo Castriota Skanderberg. Con una buona orchestra come la Sinfonica Città di Grosseto il risultato è garantito. Ma Castriota Skanderberg ha curato in maniera puntuale anche i cantanti. Si vedeva la sua mano sinistra continuamente guidare il palcoscenico, cui  aggiungeva spesso il movimento delle labbra ad accennare e quasi suggerire il canto. Purtroppo, e mi duole davvero scriverlo, il risultato è stato in larga parte compromesso dalla struttura del teatro, che non essendo nato per la lirica, manca di buca orchestrale e di quegli accorgimenti che favoriscono l’acustica. Per cui l’orchestra ha finito col creare spesso una barriera sonora tra palcoscenico e pubblico: un vero peccato, perché tanta cura nella preparazione dello spettacolo avrebbe davvero meritato una più soddisfacente fruizione da parte del pubblico, che comunque ha capito e ha saputo attribuire i giusti meriti a tutto il cast con i meritati applausi. Vorrei citare ancora il regista Renato Bonajuto, che ha saputo tra le tante cose dare un po’ di graziosa civetteria a Mimì nella sua prima apparizione in scena e chi ha curato le luci sempre pertinenti al momento. Una menzione anche al Coro Puccini diretto da Gianluca Fasano, che con la sua costante presenza si può quasi considerare un’istituzione stabile.

Here’s a different perspective. In the hours and days that followed the horrific events of September 11, 2001, radio programmer listserves were jammed with the same single question that prompted similar urgent flurries of e-mails and phone calls among concerned colleagues internationally. We reached out for each other’s suggestions and insights on how to ‘get it right’ for our listeners.

As you listen to the radio in a time of unusual or extreme world events, you may not realize how much furious activity is happening on the working end of your radio to make it the best, most thoughtfully-created experience possible for you and everyone else in the audience. That’s just as it should be. You shouldn’t have to think about those things, that’s why we’re here.

When the world outside is suffering as it was that day in a conflicted mix of disbelief, disenchantment, raging anger, calls for retribution, and utter, inconsolable grief – it does call into question how any communication service can best respond to external events and serve its listeners. Arts-focused organizations, like music radio stations, take that concern a little further to see how they can possibly offer beauty and expressions of human achievement that transcend the awfulness to offer messages of hope and assuage the pain.

The single question on all of our minds that day was, “what are you playing”?

At the time I was working as a classical radio station music director in Southern California, and on September 11th alone – not to mention the many days that followed – I remember talking to friends and fellow programmers in places as far away as Minnesota, North Carolina, London, NY City, Colorado, and Alabama. Amid the more appropriate, if predictable, suggestions like Barber’s Adagio, Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus and Lacrimosa, and Strauss’ Metamorphosen, came more unusual choices like Gorecki’s Symphony #3 (“Symphony of Sorrowful Songs”), Liszt’s ruminating Les Funerailles, and  and Puccini’s somber Crisantememi.

Personally, I always find that Dvorak’s Symphony #9 (“From the New World”) hits all the right chords of hope, solace, and forward-looking optimism that offer comfort in tough times. In fact I went home from work early that afternoon and laid on the floor near the stereo, closed my eyes and listened to all 9 recordings of that piece I owned, one after another. And Coltrane’s A Love Supreme lived in my car stereo for several weeks. That’s all I wanted to hear. It helped.

"In Paradisum" from Fauré's Requiem manuscript

Of all the suggestions and ideas that came from those conversations, only one piece of music was unanimously agreed upon as having just the right sound and feel for an occasion like the aftermath of September 11th. It was the Requiem, by Gabriel Fauré.

In many ways it is a conventional setting of the traditional Latin requiem mass…except that Faure omits the fiery Dies Irae (“Day of Wrath”)/Lacrimosa sequence, and ends the work with the upifting Libera Me and In Paradisum – texts taken from the burial ceremony, not typically incorporated into the Mass itself. This is a Requiem about transcending into the light of afterlife and solace, not dwelling in the dark discontent of grief and loss and unreconciled faith.

This evening the Burlington Choral Society performs Fauré’s serene Requiem as the centerpiece of their annual fall concert, in a program that also includes Bach’s Wachet, auf! Cantata #140 and another of Fauré’s lovely choral favorites, his student composition the Cantique de Jean Racine.

Life is challenging. Take a deep breath and allow yourself to be transported to a place of deep peace and beauty for a couple of hours. In Paridisum, indeed. There is nothing like the Fauré Requiem.

The program starts at 7:30 this evening, at the North Avenue Alliance Church (901 North Avenue) in  Burlington.

Antony Hagerty is nou niet iemand waarvan je zou verwachten dat hij zou meewerken aan een reclamecampagne . Toch heeft hij op verzoek van het Italiaanse koffiemerk Lavazza, de Puccini aria “Nessun Dorma” opgenomen met het Roma Sienfonette Orchestra. Grappig detail is dat Nessun Dorma betekent: Niemand zal slapen, een toepasselijk mantra voor een koffiefabrikant.
Op de website kan je het nummer gratis downloaden (eerst even regsiteren)

Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Fare Thee Well Martini

Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Frozen Martini

As you guessed by my previous post (or by ANY of my previous posts!), my mind does tend to wander pretty far off-tangent at times.  So the first martini up in the bullpen tonight was the “Fare Thee Well” martini.  There is a well-known song from my childhood, sung by (among other) Burl Ives, called “Polly Wolly Doodle”, which includes the term, “fare thee well” in it.  Yes, I’m showing my age but you probably figured out I wasn’t exactly a spring chicken by now either.  Alas, I do have a tendency to remember more deviant things than the more innocent (given a choice) – not a conscience thing, it’s just the way I’m wired.  I was exposed to a lot of less than pleasant things in my childhood and I suppose the more deviant things stick with me more, unfortunately.  So, when most might think of the cute Burl Ives song in the context of ‘Fare Thee Well’, instead I think of the Blake Edwards movie, S.O.B. 

Blake Edwards is best known as the director of the Pink Panther movies, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Days of Wine and Roses, Operation Petticoat, 10, The Great Race, and Victor/Victoria.  But probably his most off-color movie was S.O.B., which featured “America’s Sweetheart”, Julie Andrews (also Blake Edwards wife for these past 40 years) topless – to the tune of Polly Wolly Doodle.

The movie opens with the song in its original form, innocently sung by Julie Andrews, as shown in this clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2PLBmxR1U8

Over the course of the movie, the “film within a film”, Nightwind, is re-shot and re-cut to what becomes an R-rated version instead and the first time in cinematic history that anyone has seen Sally Miles’ (Julie Andrews’ character) “boobies”, also a first for Julie Andrews in real life, as far as I know. 

This link is to part 9 of segments of the movie and has the ending of the climactic scene at the very beginning.  To see the lead-up, watch parts 7 and 8 first so you understand the context of Sally being pursued by the “Devil”.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PRMZrW3Zsg&NR=1.

Dancing with the Devil in the X-Rated Playroom

As further evidence that my brother and I are cut from the same DNA, when I asked him today as a quick “off the top of your head” question what he thought of when he heard the expression, “Fare Thee Well”, his answer was the same as mine.  He thought of this movie.  Great (or twisted) minds really think alike.  Or something like that!

The Devil's Reaction to Seeing Julie Andrews Topless - CLASSIC!

So after I satisfied my needs to see clips of this movie and reassure myself that the song I was thinking of was indeed, in the movie as I remembered, I mixed up my Fare Thee Well.  6 parts gin (using Bombay Sapphire now, I finished off the New Amsterdam) 1 part dry vermouth, 1 part sweet vermouth.  Lovely pink-gold shade from the vermouth.  It looked a little naked without a garnish (none is called for) so I put in a cherry, which looks good with it.  The verdict?  Better than I was expecting.  I thought after my too-much-vermouth cocktail of the other night that this would be nasty, but the sweet and the dry vermouth really do balance each other out in a way – each adds to the taste in their own unique way.  A good, no-frills martini, a bit on the sweet side, but enjoyable.  Solid 4 stars for this one. 

While I was looking up the Fare Thee Well, I also decided to mix up the Frozen Martini, namely because the Frozen required being mixed up and stuck into the freezer for a minimum of 3 hours before serving.  My only regret with this one is that, given the long wait time, I wish I had made a larger one!  I misread the instructions and mixed the gin and vermouth in the shaker and added the olives, then put the shaker in the freezer, along with a glass, to chill for the requisite time.  Apparently I was supposed to chill the olives separately, I guess on a plate or in a bowl or somewhere apart from the liquid. I’m not entirely sure how much of a difference it would have made.  After three hours in the freezer, the olives take on a consistency not unlike frozen green grapes.  Which is not a bad thing. I like frozen grapes in the right mood, they are delicious.  I can’t tell you if, frozen in a different fashion (i.e., not sitting in a bath of gin), they would be different or not.  I’ll have to experiment.

Crate & Barrel's Clio Glass. I may need these.

This was 5 parts gin to 1 part dry vermouth, a good ratio for this drink, with two almond-stuffed olives, served in the well-chilled martini glass.  It was excellent.  I wouldn’t honestly have thought that the freezing would really make THAT much difference but it was soooo very smooth and drinkable – perhaps a bit too much so, I found myself wanting to finish it off before it warmed up too much just to savor the unique coldness of it.  Perhaps that’s the point, it’s almost like a shot glass served in a block of ice.  I’d give this somewhere between 4.25 and 4.5 stars – it really was good.  I found myself wanting one of those trendy martini glasses where the bowl of the glass sits in a nest of crushed ice, just to keep the drink extra cold (my peeve with these would always be that you would have to carry both parts around with you to be able to set the drink down, but as long as you’re just drinking this at a small gathering and not moving around the room, it wouldn’t be an issue).  Very tempting.  But as long as we’re on the subject of martini glasses (as if I don’t have enough of them already), ZGallerie has some gorgeous ones called Puccini that come in a beautiful peacock blue and silver … and now in a cinnamon red to boot, and, well, Santa, are you listening? 

’til the bar opens again and bottoms up,
Cathy

Italiano nacido en 1858 y muerto en 1924. Nessum Dorma, Aria de Turandot, es uno de los más sublimes momentos de la ópera mundias. Puccini muere sin terminar Turandot una de sus grandes obras y una de las grandes obras del arte universal.

1858 Nace en Lucca, Tosca un 22 de Diciembre.

1896 La Boheme.

1924 Muere.

1926 Turandot , Teatro alla Scala, Milano. (Terminada por Franco Alfano)

O povo é, no fundo, a origem de todas as coisas belas e nobres, inclusive da boa música! [...] Tenho uma grande fé nas crianças. Acho que delas tudo se pode esperar. Por isso é tão essencial educá-las. É preciso dar-lhes uma educação primária de senso ético, como iniciação para uma futura vida artística. [...] A minha receita é o canto orfeônico. Mas o meu
canto orfeônico deveria, na realidade, chamar-se educação social pela música. Um povo que sabe cantar está a um passo da felicidade; é preciso ensinar o mundo inteiro a cantar.

Heitor VILLA-LOBOS

Há exatos 50 anos morria, no Rio de Janeiro – cidade onde nasceu, a 5 de março de 1887 – o maestro e compositor Heitor Villa-Lobos. Considerado o maior expoente da música do Modernismo no Brasil, destacou-se por ter sido o principal responsável pela descoberta de uma linguagem misical peculiarmente brasileira, compondo obras que enaltecem o espírito nacionalista, com a incorporaçao de elementos das canções folclóricas, populares e indígenas.

Biografia

Filho de Noêmia Monteiro Villa-Lobos e Raul Villa-Lobos, foi desde cedo incentivado aos estudos, pois sua mãe queria vê-lo médico. No entanto, seu pai, funcionário da Biblioteca Nacional e músico amador, deu-lhe instrução musical e adaptou uma viola para que o pequeno Heitor iniciasse seus estudos de violoncelo. Aos 12 anos, órfão de pai, Villa-Lobos passou a tocar violoncelo em teatros, cafés e bailes. Paralelamente, interessou-se pela intensa musicalidade dos “chorões”, representantes da melhor música popular do Rio de Janeiro, e, neste contexto, desenvolveu-se também no violão. De temperamento inquieto, aos 18 anos sai de casa e passa a percorrer o interior do Brasil, em suas primeiras etapas de um processo de absorção de todo o universo musical brasileiro. Em 1913, Villa-Lobos casou-se com a pianista Lucília Guimarães e fixou-se no Rio de Janeiro. Em 1915 realiza o primeiro concerto com obras de sua autoria.

Em 1922, Villa-Lobos participa da Semana da Arte Moderna, no Teatro Municipal de São Paulo. No ano seguinte embarca para Europa, regressando ao Brasil em 1930, quando realiza turnê por sessenta e seis cidades. Realiza também, nesse ano, a “Cruzada do Canto Orfeônico“, no Rio de Janeiro. Seu casamento com Lucília termina na década de 1930 . Depois de operar-se de câncerm em 1948, casa-se com Arminda Neves d’Almeida, a Mindinha, uma ex-aluna que, depois de sua morte, se encarrega da divulgação de uma obra monumental. O impacto internacional dessa obra fez-se sentir especialmente na França e EUA, como se verifica pelo editorial que o The New York Times dedicou-lhe no dia seguinte a sua morte. Villa-Lobos nunca teve filhos.

Obra

As primeiras composições de Villa-Lobos trazem a marca dos estilos europeus da virada do século XIX para o século XX, sendo influenciado principalmente por Wagner, Puccini, pelo alto romantismo francês da escola de Frank e logo depois pelos impressionistas. Teve aulas com Frederico Nascimento e Francisco Braga.

Nas Danças características africanas (1914), entretanto, começou a repudiar os moldes europeus e a descobrir uma linguagem própria, que viria a se firmar nos bailados Amazonas e Uirapuru (1917). O compositor chega à década de 1920 perfeitamente senhor de seus recursos artísticos, revelados em obras como a Prole do Bebê, para piano, ou o Noneto (1923). Violentamente atacado pela crítica especializada da época, viajou para a Europa, em 1923, com o apoio do mecenas Carlos Guinle e, em Paris, tomou contato com toda a vanguarda musical da época. Depois de uma segunda permanência na capital francesa (1927-1930), voltou ao Brasil a tempo de engajar-se nas novas realidades produzidas pela Revolução de 1930.

Apoiado pelo Estado Novo, Villa-Lobos desenvolveu amplo projeto educacional, em que teve papel de destaque o canto orfeônico, e que resultou na compilação do Guia prático (temas populares harmonizados).
À audácia criativa dos anos 1920 (que produziram as Serestas, os Choros, os Estudos para violão e as Cirandas para piano) seguiu-se um período “neobarroco”, cujo carro-chefe foi a série de nove Bachianas brasileiras (1930-1945), para diversas formações instrumentais. Em sua obra prolífera, o maestro combinou indiferentemente todos os estilos e todos os gêneros, introduzindo sem hesitação materiais musicais tipicamente brasileiros em formas tomadas de empréstimo à música erudita ocidental. Procedimento que o levou a aproximar, numa mesma obra, Johann Sebastian Bach e os instrumentos mais exóticos. (Ref.: Wikipédia)

Em homenagem à nossa maior expressão musical, postamos alguns videos emprestados do Youtube. O primeiro, o Choro N° 1, composto em 1920 para violão solo, é executado pelo exímio violonista brasileiro Turibio Soares Santos (arquivo Raíssa Amaral & Sergio Napoleão).

No segundo video, Eduardo Lopes conduz a Orquestra Nacional de Lyon (França), que executa o Prelúdio da Bachiana Brasileira n° 4.

E, finalmente, o famoso Trenzinho Caipira (ou Trenzinho do Caipira), parte integrante das Bachianas Brasileiras nº 2, que se caracteriza por imitar o movimento de uma locomotiva com os instrumentos da orquestra. No video, a música é interpretada pelo conmjunto Boca Livre, em gravação de 2007. Mas a homenagem não acaba por aqui. Como estamos em um blog de poesia, transcrevemos a letra do Trenzinho Caipira, criada pelo poeta Ferreira Gullar.

Choro n°. 1, executado por Turíbio Santos

Prelúdio da Bachiana Brasileira n° 4 – Orquestra Nacional de Lyon, conduzida por Eduardo Lopes

Trenzinho Caipira – Conjunto Boca Livre

________________________

Trenzinho caipira

Letra de Ferreira Gullar

á vai o trem com o menino
Lá vai a vida a rodar
Lá vai ciranda e destino
Cidade e noite a girar

Lá vai o trem sem destino
Pro dia novo encontrar
Correndo vai pela terra
Vai pela serra, vai pelo mar

Cantando pela serra ao luar
Correndo entre as estrelas a voar
Luar, no ar, no ar, no ar

And this is how it is done. All comments saying that Paul Potts’ version is better than this, shalt be instantly deleted.

The expression at the finale “Vincero!” is worth a million words. This is probably the most emotional performace I’ve ever seen. This is why he is The Pavarotti.

Alex Ross, periodista y escritor, acaba de publicar un resumen sobre la historia del siglo XX a través de la música en el ensayo “El ruido eterno”. Se trata de un ensayo que explica la evolución de la música clásica en el siglo XX, de cómo cambiaron los patrones clásicos frente a las vanguardias.

Ross, lleva mucho tiempo escribiendo críticas de música clásica para “The New Yorker” y, con esta obra, asegura que su intención es “acercar esa música […] al gran público […] relacionándola con otras manifestaciones culturales y políticas, e incidiendo en la personalidad y psicología de los autores”.

El autor de “El eterno ruido” se lamenta de que el público haya sabido apreciar y adaptar a pintores como Pollock o Picasso, mientras que no ha podido asimilar a sus equivalentes en música clásica.

Mahler, Strauss o Puccini son algunos de los compositores con los que empieza el libro, cuando las portadas de los periódicos se llenaban con los estrenos de sus obras. Como el joven que se aprende la letra de una canción que le llama la atención por aquella época los más sofisticados se aprendían los libretos de Wagner.

Quizás ellos son más conocidos, pero el autor recorre a partir de ese momento un montón de obras y autores que no tuvieron la repercusión que sus obras merecían mientras este género se iba apartando de la sociedad en general. Sin embargo, no pretende encontrar la respuesta a la ruptura entre el público y las obras, sino “que la gente conozca la evolución de los diferentes movimientos y tendencias musicales, los avances tecnológicos y los compositores más relevantes y – que – busquen su propia respuesta”.

Casi diez años de investigación le han llevado incluso a predecir un posible camino a seguir por la música clásica: “un posible destino para la música del siglo XXI es una gran fusión final: los artistas pop inteligentes y los compositores extravertidos, hablando más o menos el mismo idioma”.

Además, el autor ha puesto una página web a disposición del público para que pueda acceder a la banda sonora del libro.

por Mariana Suárez

Pocas ciudades en el mundo ofrecen una combinación tan balanceada de exposiciones, eventos deportivos, teatro, baile y música como lo hace Melbourne.

En esta ocasión, me enfocaré solamente en la música, ya que, por mucho, es el arte que más personas atrae en el mundo y con la cantidad tan grande de eventos en los próximos meses, bien valía el espacio de este número.

Melbourne Millenium Choir, 30^th Birthday DVD Launch

Fairfield Amphiteatre, Noviembre 29, 6:00-7:30 pm

Este 2009 cumplió 30 años el Melbourne Millenium Choir (MMC), el grupo coral comunitario de más de 300 voces The Boîte que se reúne cada año para presentar un espectáculo de talento, musicalidad y multiculturalismo.

El concierto de este año se llevó a cabo en la Galería Nacional de Victoria (NGV), dirigido por Stephen Taberner y el tema del concierto “Our Home, Our Land”, fue un tributo a los dueños originales de esta linda tierra.

Como algo extraordinario, Stephen accedió a presentar un extracto de los sonidos de este concierto en un espacio abierto para que todas las voces del público los acompañen en este mágico lugar a lo largo del Río Yarra.

El evento es GRATUITO, sólo trae algún bocadillo y bebidas para hacer de la ocasión algo muy especial.

Trade Winds, A Celebration of Music from around the Pacific

Melbourne Recital Centre, Noviembre 22, 3:00 pm

Unete a esta fusión de sonidos de Australia, Melanesia y las Islas del Pacífico, presentando a:

1. Pigram Borthers: Una banda legendaria de 7 elementos que viene desde Broome, Western Australia
2. George Telek with the Moab Stringband: Una de las bandas de cuerdas más reconocidas a lo largo del Pacífico
3. Narasirato Pan Pipers: Fusión de música y baile de las Islas Salomón
4. The Shakura Stringband: Una nueva orquesta de música de cuerdas desde Vanuatu

Además de talleres de música y danza. Para más información y el programa completo del evento visita www.awme.com.au

Los boletos tienen un costo de $27 Full y $22 Concession

Australia Post Opera in the Bowl, La Boheme de Puccini

Sidney Myer Music Bowl, Diciembre 11, 8:00 pm

Ven a disfrutar este impresionante concierto GRATUITO en el que se presentará la famosa opera de Puccini La Boheme. Qué mejor lugar que el Music Bowl para acompañarlo de la luz de la luna y las estrellas, unos bocadillos, bebidas y la compañía de tus amigos y familia. Definitivamente, será una noche digna de recordarse por mucho tiempo.

Rodrigo y Gabriela en Concierto

Palais Theatre, Enero 5, 7:30 pm

Los boletos de Rodrigo y Gabriela, los guitarristas mexicanos que están conquistando el mundo entero YA ESTAN A LA VENTA.

Puedes comprar tus boletos en Ticketmaster.

Enfin!! Enfin, j’ai pu voir sur scène Natalie Dessay… A l’Opéra de Paris Bastille, dans “La Bohème” de Giacomo Puccini (Manon Lescaut, Madame Butterfly, Tosca,…). Cet opéra en 4 actes se passe à Paris dans les années 1830, au coeur du Quartier Latin rempli de peintres, musiciens, philosophes et écrivains vivant de leur art au jour le jour. Ce sont eux les bohémiens, artistes libres et joyeux de vivre. A leurs côtés sont les grisettes, ces jeunes filles brodant, chantant, … qui leur font tourner la tête. Cette oeuvre est inspirée des “Scènes de vie de bohème” de Mürger.

C’est l’histoire de Rodolfo et Mimi, Marcello et Musetta, et de leurs compagnons. C’est l’histoire d’une jeunesse qui n’a qu’un temps, d’un amour qui ne vit qu’une seule fois et se termine tragiquement par la mort de Mimi. C’est également l’histoire d’un Paris qui porte les espoirs, les rêves et les chimères des jeunes artistes.

“Il n’est peut-être rien de plus simple que La Bohème : un jeune homme et une jeune fille se rencontrent et s’aiment, sont séparés par la vie, se retrouvent pourtant avant la séparation suprême. C’est à Paris, un Paris à la fois légendaire et bien réel, au temps éternel de la bohème. De cette simplicité sourd le surnaturel, une émotion toujours nouvelle et irrépressible. Dans La Bohème, Puccini a su créer des images inoubliables : Mimi entrant, telle la muse, une bougie à la main dans la chambre du poète, le duo d’amour sous la lune, le grand café illuminé, les adieux impossibles dans le matin glacé, la mort enfin sur le lit misérable. Mais les lieux sont autant de régions de nous-mêmes : son café Momus, c’est le tournoiement même de l’existence, sa Barrière d’Enfer l’effrayant désert du coeur. La Bohème évoque ce qui nous hante tous : l’amour qui flamboie et nous emporte au ciel, la jeunesse qui s’enfuit et le temps qui détruit tout. En 1896, Puccini a encore de nombreux chefs-d’oeuvre devant lui. Mais plus jamais peut-être il ne retrouvera cette évidence et cette splendeur de la mélodie, où chaque phrase nous touche et est inscrite en nous depuis le premier jour où nous l’avons entendue” – Livret de l’Opéra de Paris

Site Opéra de Paris sur La Bohème !

Puccini signe là un opéra dit de la maturité. Les airs de Mimi sur sa vie dans sa petite chambre blanche, d’où elle ne voit que les toits de Paris, qui lui offrent au printemps le premier soleil, de Musetta sur son plaisir d’être admirée dans la rue, de Rodolfo sur l’amour, et les duos admirablement orchestrés, font de cet opéra une petite merveille à mon sens.

 Un bémol, la mise en scène est naturaliste, un peu trop conformiste. On retrouve de vieilles publicités aux murs, de grandes affiches dans les chambres et hôtels, les pavés de Paris et bien sûr le vieux poële qui n’a pas assez de nourriture pour travailler. Le deuxième acte se passe tout entier sous une neige artificelle, les premier et dernier acte se déroulent dans le studio de Rodolfo et Marcello. Le deuxième acte a pour cadre le café Momus, grouillant de vie et d’activité, et est le seul qui dynamise un peu cette mise en scène.

Les voix correspondent, je trouve, parfaitement aux personnages, et la couleur apportée par chacun est dans le bon ton de l’histoire, entre drame, romance et moments de comédie. La soprano Tamar Iveri incarne une Mimi joyeuse, romantique qui mourra dans les bras de son amant. Stefano Secco est un parfait Rodolfo, partagé entre l’amour et la peur de perdre Mimi à cause de sa maladie, à la voix bien posée et pleine d’émotions. Ludovic Tézier en Marcello est excellent, sa voix résonne dans tout l’opéra.

Natalie Dessay

Et bien sûr, Natalie Dessay qui incarne pour son premier rôle puccinien la grisette Musetta, illumine la scène lors de ses apparitions. Dynamique, pétillante dans le côté frivole du rôle, elle devient grave et émouvante à la fin, devant la mort de Mimi. Sa voix virevolte entre jeu de séduction, colère, émotion et douleur. Toujours claire et pure, elle est accompagnée des talents de comédienne de Natalie Dessay, qui fait de Musetta plus qu’un personnage secondaire.

L’orchestre de l’Opéra de Paris, que j’entend pour la deuxième fois, était dirigé par le chef Israëlien Daniel Oren, qui excelle dans le sens du drame. Un point spécial pour les lumières (Guido Levi) que j’ai trouvées particulièrement réussies, et pour le choeur des enfants de l’Opéra.

Bref, en plus d’accomplir un de mes plus vieux rêves, voir Natalie Dessay en “vrai”, j’ai passé une soirée excellente grâce à un opéra qui s’est révélé, comme d’habitude, trop court!

This Franco Zeffirelli production is wonderful. The sets by Zeffirelli himself, along with costume designs by Anna Anni and Dada Saligeri, give a sense of power and magnificence, while the predominantly dark lighting by Gil Wechsler gives a sense of menace. All one then needs is a good conductor and fine singers, and here we were excellently served by Andris Nelsons in the orchestra pit, and Maria Guleghina and Marcello Giordani in the main parts of Turandot and Calaf. With her great stage presence and powerful voice, Ms. Guleghina portrayed Turandot to perfection, and interacted superbly with Giordani. His evident determination to crack the riddles, showing uncertainty before working out the answers, was admirably done, and despite a brief loss of pitch in Act II he sang heroically, rendering Nessun dorma with perfect timing and build-up.

The supporting role of Calaf’s father Timur was sensitively portrayed by Samuel Ramey, and the bravely faithful Liu was beautifully sung and acted by Marina Poplavskaya. I particularly liked the way Charles Anthony portrayed the emperor, singing with wonderful Chinese intonation, and one of the intermission features by Patricia Racette was an interview with Anthony, who told us he first sang at the Met in 1954, and that his real family name was Caruso. What a superbly appropriate fact, since the opera is concerned with finding out the prince’s real name. But that was just icing on the cake, because this opera was brilliantly performed. And it shows the Met to be setting a template for opera performance that puts into a shadow some of the more confusing and hyper-intellectual nonsense that one occasionally meets. Thank you Metropolitan Opera!

Prima le parole e dopo la musica, or Prima la musica e dopo le parole?

The other day I was thinking about the fact that opera still has the power to command people, and I don’t just mean in an emotional sense even if it certainly does that too.  What I mean is that people who love opera, “afficionados,” love it and would kill for it; yet, those who hate it, HATE IT!  For those of us who love it, it is infinitely difficult to convert someone from “the other side,” but it is possible, trust me!  So, what is it?  What is this thing called opera, this thing that has been an emotional, social, political vehicle, fully encompassing every artistic genre in order to achieve its premise?

In order to answer this question accordingly, we would have to embark on a serious study of this genre that has existed for centuries, now (sometimes I feel like I’ve been studying it for centuries, as the grey hairs on my head seem to suggest). But, to give a surface scraping answer:  opera is a spectacle of combinatory proportions with the sole purpose of “affecting” the listener beyond the manifestation of words alone.  It is meant to instruct us, frighten us, to arouse us, to seduce us, to make us laugh, to make us cry, and to infect us with the grandeur of life.  Opera, is life.

Of course, it combines music, staging, drama, literature, orchestration, costume, movement, and often dance, but the magical element above all these is the inclusion of the Voice, a most seductive and dangerous being.  As it is, the Voice can represent any number of things and often serves purposes that are not always relegated to singing, per se.  To me, the voice is a metaphysical being (which is why I capitalize it); that is, something that is not entirely of this world, something that descends from a higher realm and does not have a bodily or visceral form.  If that’s true, then how does it come from the body of a singer?  While some might think that the singer embodies the voice, I tend to think that the voice embodies the singer, which is why many singers actually transcend as they’re performing, a wonderful feeling to be sure (and I don’t mean they levitate…that would be scary…or wonderful, who knows?)

Since its inception in Italy around the 1600s (yes, it was us hot-blooded Italians that started this all…mix in some good food and vino and you’ve got a full evening’s entertainment), Italian composers and dramatists recognized the affects of the voice on the body, especially the solo voice, which is why they created “monody.”  Monodic songs (they weren’t really considered arias as of yet), had the power to shift the “affections”.  During the Renaissance, the general thought was that certain vibrations affected the body.  These vibrations, called hot and cold vapours, could either warm or cool down the body temple.  In other words, voices can either turn us on or turn us off.

Interestingly, one of the first imprecations in opera still remains today, whether the words or the music should come first, akin to the proverbial “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” Prima le parole e dopo la musica or Prima la musica e dopo le parole? Actually, come to think of it, this was the first thing I ever learned about opera and it’s certainly intriguing that after so many years of studying this genre, I keep returning to this point.  Of course, it depends on the composer.  Would it surprise you to know that Puccini wanted the text to, “Si, mi chiamano Mimi” before he composed the aria?  When you listen to that aria, it seems almost unbelievable that he would manifest the type of melody he did, especially when the words and music seem so homogeneous.  But, then, this is the sign of a great melodist.

There were, however, other composers who wrote melodies first and then decided on the text.  If you were an opera composer, which methodology would you choose?  It’s an interesting topic, for sure, and there have been many studies on whether or not the overall success of an opera is measurable by this question?  Perhaps.  Some food for thought……

Well, according to the poll, 75% feel that neither Lindstrom nor Guleghina were authentic enough in their portrayal of Puccini’s Principessa di Gelo.  So, what do I mean by authenticity?  When a composer creates a character, it is not solely their dramatis personae that is taken into account.  In fact, most operatic characters are defined by their singing, by the style of their music, and thus a number of elements come into play that go above and beyond fach.  To be authentic, language, aesthetic understanding, musicality, and emotional impetus are mandatory.

The role of Turandot is usually sung by a dramatic spinto, but don’t let this confuse you.  There are many moments where lyric qualities are absolutely necessary.  Actually, Turandot’s style and her mannerisms shift as her persona goes through a series of emotional shifts.  As such, the singer portraying her must possess all of these capabilities.  The role was originally sung by Puccini’s favourite soprano, Maria Jeritza.  The other great, and my personal favourite, was Birgit Nilsson.  Unfortunately, neither Lindstrom or Guleghina came close…should we expect them to?  ABSOLUTELY!  Just because we are hedging on 2010 doesn’t mean that we should consider that the great era of singers has come to an end.  Obviously, this notion affects the young generation of singers and how they are being instructed (but that’s another issue altogether).

Lindstrom’s debut was exciting, to say the least, and the voice has the type of laser quality that is absolutely necessary of Turandot.  Lacking in this quality deems Turandot’s persona to be warmer than she should be.  The upper tessitura requires that kind of silver shimmer that lingers in the theater long after the note has ended.  Unfortunately, Ms. Lindstrom’s middle and lower voice were uneven in relationship to her upper voice.  This is a technical issue and not the result of the role itself.  Interestingly, singers of this fach need to use chest resonance in the middle and lower voices because the top is so heavy.  Pushing the head voice down too far isn’t condusive.

Guleghina, on the other hand, has a much darker tone and is, in my opinion, not as much a spinto as she is a Dramatic Soprano.  She is more comfortable in the middle and lower range than the top and unfortunately many of her upper notes left much to be desired.  She infused portamenti into those phrases where the higher notes are meant to be held, lingering, spinning, and laser-like, in order to save herself.  There is no question that the voice is important in the genre, but unfortunately, she didn’t impress more than Lindstrom.

Perhaps we should make a clone by combining the two of them:  Lindstrom’s top with Guleghina’s middle and bottom would be ideal….but still, never Nilsson.

Birgit Nilsson, the quintessential Turandot

Monday 2nd November 7:30pm

at Symphony Hall

Renée Fleming soprano
Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
Charles Dutoit conductor

Prokofiev Suite, Romeo and Juliet
Tchaikovsky Tatyana’s Letter Scene from Eugene Onegin
Tchaikovsky Fantasy Overture, Romeo and Juliet
Leoncavallo Svaria sulla bocca viva from La Boheme
Leoncavallo Pinson la biondetta from La Boheme
Giordano Nella suo amore from Siberia
Puccini Sola perduta, abandonata from Manon Lescaut

There are few more famous divas than soprano Renée Fleming, whose fame has soared into realms normally reserved for pop music superstars. The effortless ease of her distinctive tone brings a breathtaking sheen to every note she sings. She returns to Symphony Hall after a break of six years in a programme on the theme of love. www.thsh.co.uk

Classic FM’s Anne-Marie Minhall, says of tonight’s recommended concert: “Renée Fleming is undoubtedly a soprano in a league of her own. The double Grammy winner is an outstanding solo performer. Don’t miss this chance to catch this world-class singer live.”

Review by David Hart, Birmingham Post:

http://www.birminghampost.net/life-leisure-birmingham-guide/birmingham-culture/music-in-birmingham/2009/11/04/review-ren-e-fleming-royal-philharmonic-orchestra-at-symphony-hall-65233-25091167/

“Real passion and commitment came later. The section leading up to the Death of Tybalt displayed palpably thrilling sonorities, while in Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet fantasy-overture (just imagine what a Tchaikovsky ballet, or even opera on this subject might have been like) Dutoit avoided any suggestion of warhorse posturing, building climaxes in a purposefully expressive way and keeping the love theme under control right up to its final, poignant appearance in the coda.”

Review by Geoff Read, Seen and Heard UK

http://www.musicweb-international.com/sandh/2009/Jul-Dec09/Fleming_0211.htm

…”The final scheduled aria was Sola, perduta, abbandonata, from Puccini’s Manon Lescaut: Fleming had saved the best for last, demonstrating why she has reached her star status. At last, we had an aria that displayed drama and passion with orchestra and soloist on the same wavelength.”…

Mexico's Dios de los muertos ... a day to celebrate our lost loved ones.

Today is All Soul’s Day. It’s a day to remember the dearly departed, especially those who have recently left us. I’d like to dedicate today’s post to two beautiful souls who passed away this week — my in-laws. At 96, they were both an inspiration to me in so many ways. And neither one of them would ever have called any of the thoughtful gestures and kind words and actions they shared daily — no, hourly — as good deeds. To them, it was second-nature to put yourself in another’s shoes and treat each person with compassion and understanding. I still have so much to learn from them.

One of the many things I learned by watching my father-in-law in action was the way he took a special interest in every person who crossed his path. Whether it was a waitress, a store clerk or a bank president, he treated each individual with the same warmth and courtesy, genuinely interested in who they were and what they were about.

He was a master at turning a brief encounter with a stranger into a warm exchange that invariably left that person a little cheerier as they went on their way.

I did try to do that today. And I will try to do that every day. For Flos and for Poppo.

P.S. Here’s a song that reminds me of my in-laws, both great opera lovers. Enjoy!

I’ve been listening to a couple of English operas the past few days (and went to see the ROH double bill of L’Heure Espagnol and Gianni Schicchi) and it’s all got me thinking about the libretto of an opera and where it comes from.

The English operas are Vaughan Williams’ Riders to the Sea and (after a lot of recent twitter action about Opera Australia’s production) Britten’s Peter Grimes. Two different approaches to source texts you couldn’t find – Vaughan Williams pretty much sets the text of Synge’s one act play as he found it, whilst Montagu Slater, in his libretto for Grimes, takes a section of a larger poem and turns it into a new work in its own right. Grimes is an out and out sadist in Crabbe’s original poem, yet Slater and Britten blur the edges between what Grimes has done and how he’s treated to the point where a good performance can floor you with the tragedy of it all.

This made me think of Gianni Schicchi, which I saw at Covent Garden the week before last. Here we have a work expertly crafted (by Giovacchino Forzano) from a handful of lines taken from a much larger work (Dante’s Inferno). Forzano takes Schicchi, a minor character given a passing mention, and explores his story in full. We all know there’s great skill in taking a source text ad adapting it so it works dramatically when sung. It’s a completely different thing though to take a fragment of something and work it into a full-scale masterpiece in its own right, creating a dramatic structure and singable text as you go.

All of this has given me a new-found respect for the art of the librettist and convinced me of the worth of reading the source materials an opera came from, not necessarily to enhance my understanding of the opera itself (if the libretto works it should stand alone), but just to see the craft that goes into preparing a text to be sung and acted in the unique form that is opera. I’m sure this is a stage many of you have already been through in your journey through opera but, for a relative newcomer like me, it opened my eyes further and reminded me that one of the reasons I love opera so much is the sheer number of angles you can approach it from.

OK, back to writing content for the website – must add a list of librettists to the ever-growing phase 2 content list!

Matt

“Güzel bir kahve içtiğinizde de, etkileyici bir müzik dinlediğinizde de gözlerinizi kapama eğiliminde olduğunuzu fark ettiniz mi hiç? Bu küçük zevkin her bir anının tadını olabildiğince çıkarmak için…” diyor Lavazza. Ve gelenekselleşmiş takvim projesinin yanına bu kez de müzikal bir proje ekliyor. Bunun için kendi deyimleriyle en sofistike seslerden Antony Hegarty’yi (Antony and the Johnsons) seçiyor.

Antony Hegarty, kahve firması için; bir Puccini klasiği ‘Nessun Dorma’yı yeniden yorumluyor. Üstelik kendi tercihiyle İtalyanca olarak… Roma Senfoni Orkestrası eşliğinde Antony Hegarty’den ‘Nessun Dorma’yı dinlemek isteyenler burayı tıklasın.

Francesca Lavazza’nın müzik ve kahve ile ilgili söylediklerini de buraya not edelim: “Müzik ve kahve birbiriyle bağlantılı temalardır. En az 6 bin şarkının başlığında bile kahve kelimesinin kullanılıyor olması bunun için yeterli ispattır. Sherly Crow ve Bob Dylan gibi büyük sanatçılar bir fincan kahveye teşekkür etmekle ilgili şarkılar yazmışlardır.” 

Fotoğrafçı Miles Aldridge’in objektifinden Lavazza takviminin karelerini görmek isteyenler yazının devamını tıklayabilirler. Ama açıkçası çekimlerin beni çok da etkilediğini söyleyemem. İşin müzik kısmı çok daha başarılı olmuş…

Soprano, Lise Lindstrom

The old proverbial concept of “being in the right place at the right time” is still working wonders for singers.  On October 28th, the Met’s resident soprano, Maria Guleghina unexpectedly cancelled due to illness, leaving B-Cast soprano Lise Lindstrom to make her debut several days earlier. In this interesting turn of events, Lindstrom solidified her place at the Met and likely caused some uneasiness for Guleghina’s future performances.

Lindstrom’s voice is a sharp, crystalline laser at the top, evoking memories of Nilsson, even if her middle and lower voice leave something to be desired.  She was accurate in Puccinian aesthetics if not a little stilted in her Italian pronunciation.  Some reviewers seem to be more concerned about the size of Lindstrom’s voice, but I say, size doesn’t really matter…it’s whether or not you can evoke something that slaps the audience emotionally in the face.  While the role of Turandot seems to me to be the wrong direction for Guleghina to take at this point in her career, she is going to have to pull out all of the stops in order to compete with Lindstrom’s new found adoring public.

Also giving an acceptable performance was Russian soprano, Marina Poplovskaya, as Liù.  The voice has a lovely, warm tone to it and pronounced beauty, however, Poplovskaya didn’t use her innately beautiful voice to its potential.  Although the audience responded graciously to her singing, Liù’s arias, which are authentic examples of Puccini’s “povera faccia melody” were lacking in emotional depth.

For me, the success of the night was resident tenor, Marcello Giordani, who sang with true Italianante impetus and remained true to Puccini’s aesthetic.  His understanding of the “punto di linea” was evident in every nuance.  Although his voice often displays its most beautiful colore bruciato in the higher tessitura, Mr. Giordani was expressive and authentic in his approach.  The Nessun Dorma, which is the key portal to Puccini’s grandeur, was sung eloquently, passionately, and with an exquisite penultimate note, held as Puccini intended it.  Many tenors extend the note when, in fact, Puccini shunned any lengthening of these notes at the end of the aria. Had he wanted to write a long note, he would have. This shows that Mr. Giordani is more devoted to accuracy than he is centered on showing off his abilities. Bravo Marcello!!!

All in all, this performance of Turandot was much more successful than opening night’s “Tosca.”  What was more interesting was Peter Gelb’s interview during the intermission in which he suggested that they were “simply trying to give the audience something they could relate to.”  I’m all for anachronistic presentation, but bringing the past into the present doesn’t always mean that the audience wants something different, or that they can’t relate to something from the past.  After all, if opera isn’t a historical art, then what is it?  The very vocal audience at the Met, with someone even yelling out “Viva Puccini” after Giordani’s Nessun Dorma, are telling directors and producers exactly what they want.  VIVA IL POPOLO!!!!

I remember the drama department at the college my father worked at staged Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. My sister, a few years old, was cast as the silent Dolore (Sorrow), the protagonist Cio Cio-San’s daughter. At one point she was on stage to pretend to sleep and actually fell asleep and had to be taken off-stage.

This is pertinent because my grade school music teacher had us sing “The Happy Wanderer” and many other songs. Her husband led the operatic performance, and also stepped in as the lead in our school recital on “Swinging On a Star.”

Now she’s found this blog and has even made a pie from Concord grapes. She still thinks I’m eight but I’m trying to get the recipe for you. And because of her and Mrs. Smith’s influence on my musical life, I’ve been to Giacomo Puccini’s Lake House in Italy and was shown around the house by his grand-daughter. I am a happy and intent wanderer, and always seek good food en route. Cheers! Dee

R: Y no porque se haya engordado unos 150 kilos. No. Más bien porque Antony Hegarty ha hecho realidad por fin uno de sus sueños más húmedos… y, de paso, uno de los nuestros. Que sí, que el amigo de los Johnsons por fin se ha decidido a cantar ópera pura y dura, que es algo que todos sabíamos que le pegaba más que los pelucones y el maquillaje a granel. Los culpables, en esta ocasión, han debido ser los chicos del departamento de “haz realidad el sueño de un niño” de Lavazza, que han proporcionado todos los medios posibles para que Antony ponga voz a Nessun Dorma, conocidísima aria perteneciente a la ópera Turandot de Puccini. Todo orquestado por The Roma Sinfonietta Orchestra. ¿Alguien era capaz de pedir algo más? Total, que para poder escuchar la versión del hombre empeñado en parecerse a una señora mayor, lo único que tienes que hacer es entrar en la web de Lavazza, registrarte y decidir si quieres escucharla o descargarla (que, por cierto, en la versión de descarga viene con una portada extrañísima pero que tiene su punto). También puedes ver el video que ponemos a continuación, pero entonces tendrás que soportar tres minutos de la visión de una foto particularmente inquietante. Mi consejo al departamento de “está bien hacer realidad los sueños de los niños pero nosotros estamos aquí para ganar dinero” de Lavazza es el siguiente: aprended del ejemplo de Radiohead y dad la posiblidad a la gente de pagar lo que crea que vale la canción. Con lo recaudado, por favor, grabad el Turandot entero con la voz de Antony. Los niños del mundo entero (conmigo y los fabricantes de pelucas incluídos) os lo agradeceremos.