The Sixteen continues its exploration of Henry Purcell’s Welcome Songs for Charles II. As with Robert King’s pioneering Purcell series begun over thirty years ago for Hyperion, Harry Christophers is recording two Welcome Songs per disc.
In February this year, Albanian soprano Ermonela Jaho made a highly lauded debut recital at Wigmore Hall - a concert which both celebrated Opera Rara’s 50th anniversary and honoured the career of the Italian soprano Rosina Storchio (1872-1945), the star of verismo who created the title roles in Leoncavallo’s La bohème and Zazà, Mascagni’s Lodoletta and Puccini’s Madama Butterfly.
Collapsology. Or, perhaps we should use the French word ‘Collapsologie’ because this is a transdisciplinary idea pretty much advocated by a series of French theorists - and apparently, mostly French theorists. It in essence focuses on the imminent collapse of modern society and all its layers - a series of escalating crises on a global scale: environmental, economic, geopolitical, governmental; the list is extensive.
Amongst an avalanche of new Mahler recordings appearing at the moment (Das Lied von der Erde seems to be the most favoured, with three) this 1991 Mahler Second from the 2nd Kassel MahlerFest is one of the more interesting releases.
If there is one myth, it seems believed by some people today, that probably needs shattering it is that post-war recordings or performances of Wagner operas were always of exceptional quality. This 1949 Hamburg Tristan und Isolde is one of those recordings - though quite who is to blame for its many problems takes quite some unearthing.
The voices of six women composers are celebrated by baritone Jeremy Huw Williams and soprano Yunah Lee on this characteristically ambitious and valuable release by Lontano Records Ltd (Lorelt).
As Paul Spicer, conductor of the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire Chamber Choir, observes, the worship of the Blessed Virgin Mary is as ‘old as Christianity itself’, and programmes devoted to settings of texts which venerate the Virgin Mary are commonplace.
Ethel Smyth’s last large-scale work, written in 1930 by the then 72-year-old composer who was increasingly afflicted and depressed by her worsening deafness, was The Prison – a ‘symphony’ for soprano and bass-baritone soloists, chorus and orchestra.
‘Hamilton Harty is Irish to the core, but he is not a musical nationalist.’
‘After silence, that which comes closest to expressing the inexpressible is music.’ Aldous Huxley’s words have inspired VOCES8’s new disc, After Silence, a ‘double album in four chapters’ which marks the ensemble’s 15th anniversary.
A song-cycle is a narrative, a journey, not necessarily literal or linear, but one which carries performer and listener through time and across an emotional terrain. Through complement and contrast, poetry and music crystallise diverse sentiments and somehow cohere variability into an aesthetic unity.
One of the nicest things about being lucky enough to enjoy opera, music and theatre, week in week out, in London’s fringe theatres, music conservatoires, and international concert halls and opera houses, is the opportunity to encounter striking performances by young talented musicians and then watch with pleasure as they fulfil those sparks of promise.
“It’s forbidden, and where’s the art in that?”
Dublin-born John F. Larchet (1884-1967) might well be described as the father of post-Independence Irish music, given the immense influenced that he had upon Irish musical life during the first half of the 20th century - as a composer, musician, administrator and teacher.
The English Civil War is raging. The daughter of a Puritan aristocrat has fallen in love with the son of a Royalist supporter of the House of Stuart. Will love triumph over political expediency and religious dogma?
Beethoven Symphony no 9 (the Choral Symphony) in D minor, Op. 125, and the Choral Fantasy in C minor, Op. 80 with soloist Kristian Bezuidenhout, Pablo Heras-Casado conducting the Freiburger Barockorchester, new from Harmonia Mundi.
A Louise Brooks look-a-like, in bobbed black wig and floor-sweeping leather trench-coat, cheeks purple-rouged and eyes shadowed in black, Barbara Hannigan issues taut gestures which elicit fire-cracker punch from the Mahler Chamber Orchestra.
‘Signor Piatti in a fantasia on themes from Beatrice di Tenda had also his triumph. Difficulties, declared to be insuperable, were vanquished by him with consummate skill and precision. He certainly is amazing, his tone magnificent, and his style excellent. His resources appear to be inexhaustible; and altogether for variety, it is the greatest specimen of violoncello playing that has been heard in this country.’
Baritone Roderick Williams seems to have been a pretty constant ‘companion’, on my laptop screen and through my stereo speakers, during the past few ‘lock-down’ months.
Melodramas can be a difficult genre for composers. Before Richard Strauss’s Enoch Arden the concept of the melodrama was its compact size – Weber’s Wolf’s Glen scene in Der Freischütz, Georg Benda’s Ariadne auf Naxos and Medea or even Leonore’s grave scene in Beethoven’s Fidelio.
I had never heard of the Italian composer Domenico Alaleona (1891-1928) when a recording of his opera Mirra arrived in the mail. Baker's gives him a respectable 22 lines, but says "his importance lies in his theoretical writings," not this opera or various collections of songs, instrumental works, and a Requiem. If you've ever come across the term "dodecaphony," well, Alaleona coined it (in Italian, of course).
Mirra (1920, Rome) is a setting of the final two acts of a tragedy by Count Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803). Alfieri was a major figure in the development of Italian literature. His fame rests on twenty-two tragedies, among them an Agamemnon, a Saul, and an Anthony and Cleopatra. He was also a spiritual godfather of the Risorgimento by way of the condemnations of tyranny that he put into the mouths of his characters. He enjoyed a long liaison with the wife of Charles Edward Stuart (Not-So-Bonnie Prince Charlie; he was really a big reprobate); after Stuart's death, they lived together, unwed, although, as one Catholic reference puts it, his "religious feelings ... always appeared strong and sincere"! Alfieri's works influenced early Italian translations of Shakespeare; Verdi wrote to Piave during their work on Macbeth that the "the lines [between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth before Banquo's murder], especially at the end of the recitative, should be strong and concise, in the manner of Alfieri."
Mirra was based on one of Ovid's Metamorphses, wherein Mirra (there spelt Myrrha) harbors an incestuous passion for her father, Ciniro (Cinyras), king of Cypress. In Ovid, Myrrha 's father fixation is conjured up by Venus, who gets ticked off because Myrrha 's mother boasts that her daughter is more beautiful than the goddess. Deities are so sensitive. In that telling of the story, Myrrha conceives a child by her father: Adonis. You'll remember what happens to him when he grows up (it involves Venus). When Cinyras discovers that it wasn't his wife in his bed, he tries to kill Myrrha. The other gods figure they'd better resolve another of Venus's dirty tricks gone awry, so they turn Myrrha into the myrrh tree.
In Alfieri's version, Mirra is to be married to Prince Pereo, but like many brides, she gets cold feet, blames it on the furies if not a desire to see Arizona, and backs out at the altar. Her mother tries to comfort her, but Mirra says she loathes her. The entire last act is basically one long scene between Mirra and her father, angry because the prince has killed himself, so all the flowers and catering will definitely go to waste. When she finally breaks down and admits that he is the object of her infatuation, she grabs his sword and kills herself.
Alaleona stays pretty faithful to the last two acts of Alfieri's drama. Unfortunately, textual fidelity doesn't always make for exciting music drama. (Othmar Schoeck was a little more successful in his truncated setting of the last part of Kleist's Penthesilea.) The static first act for the most part just portrays long, drawn-out moping on Mirra's part, interrupted only by the wedding and her change of heart. It plays more as an oratorio than as an opera. The second act between Mirra and her father packs more dramatic oomph, though we doesn't find out until about five minutes from the end what she's been upset about the whole time, followed swiftly by her suicide and death. I'm afraid many listeners will shake their heads when the CD goes off and say, "So the whole thing is about a screwed-up offspring-parent infatuation?" Afraid so; if the dog barks at the mailman right when Mirra makes her big confession, you might miss that and still be confused. It ain't no Phaedra.
The music, which clocks in at a little under an hour and a half, for the most part matches the static quality of the text, though one phrase sung by the chorus sounds like it was lifted for Phantom of the Opera. Large sections of the first act resemble late Verdi; other passages nod toward Puccini, who reportedly admired Alaleona, as did Mascagni and Toscanini. The most interesting bit is the interlude at the opening of act 2, which would make an admirable concert excerpt. Here Alaleona used an instrument he called the "pentaphonic harmonium"--replaced in this recording by a celesta--that divided the octave into five equal intervals. Listening to the recording, most listeners probably won't realize that something funky is going on, just that the music is lushly late Romantic (which reminded me of Zemlinsky for some reason). The second act contains a few passages with added melodic pizzazz that go beyond the conversational style that characterizes much of the score.
This recording is characterized by excellent musicianship all around. The young Slovakian conductor Juraj Valcuha moves the score along without letting it drag and bringing out the beauty of the act 2 interlude. Italian soprano Denia Mazzola-Gavazzeni handles the rigors of Mirra's role well and manages to infuse her with pathos rather than making her sound pathetic. Tenor Mario Malagnini comes across as strident, but of course, the prince himself is strident once he's been dumped. Best of all is French baritone Franck Ferrari, who conveys a father's concern for his daughter, his anger at her behavior, and finally his horror at her misplaced feelings. The notes give an admirable analysis of Alaleona's style. This certainly isn't an opera that will ever be performed regularly, but it deserves the attention of lovers of Italian opera.
David Anderson