Sunday, July 26, 2020

Meet the Florestans, Beethoven's supercouple (aka Part 1a of "The Minister is coming! The Minister is coming! Don Fernando and the lesson of Fidelio")


Adapted from 2012 Sunday Classics posts,
May 11 (preview) and May 13 (main post)

As I explained earlier in today's preview post, in order to get to Part 2 from last week's Part 1 of "The Minister is coming! The Minister is coming! Don Fernando and the lesson of Fidelio" we need to get some sense of who the opera's protagonists are, and to my considerable surprise I was able to find the May 2012 posts I'd devoted to the subject, which I'm presenting as close as possible to their original form. -- Ken

"God! what darkness here!": Jon Vickers as Florestan, from a 1974 video

by Ken

Let me start with an embarrassing recollection.

It must have been after the day's rehearsal in my high school orchestra, and a few of us were chatting with our conductor, who was relatively new to the school. He was a good guy, with perhaps a touch of saintliness in dealing with smart-ass kids. The subject of Fidelio came up, and I pooh-poohed it, blithering something about not seeing what the big deal was about an opera about (said with a sneer) marital fidelity. The conductor should have suggested tactfully that I didn't know what I was talking about. Instead he merely suggested that it might be about some other things as well.


AND OF COURSE IT IS ABOUT MARITAL FIDELITY, BUT
IT'S FIDELITY BETWEEN TWO VERY PARTICULAR PEOPLE


Preview: Put these two little orchestral excerpts together, and you'll know the subject of this week's main post

Adapted from 2012 Sunday Classics posts,
May 11 (preview) and May 13 (main post)



Sneak peek: These are the first two pages of the work that's the source of Excerpt 2 below, which 2020 readers of this resurrected-from-2012 Sunday Classics post have had a chance to hear in full quite recently. Excerpt 2 itself begins at bar 8 (with the crescendo in the strings).




by Ken
Imagine my surprise -- a happy surprise, for once -- when I was actually able to retrieve the post I was looking for, which covered some ground we really need to re-cover as we try to coax out what for me is the real lesson of Beethoven's one and only opera, Fidelio, over which he labored so heroically.

You'll recall that we're poised between last week's Part 1 and next week's Part 2 of "The Minister is coming! The Minister is coming! Don Fernando and the lesson of Fidelio," and I worried that we're missing some vital information to proceed, namely
who these people are we're dealing with. Because there's an awful lot we're given about our protagonists which seems to me usually ignored or trivialized. They're about as tough a pair as I've encountered in the world of artistic representation.

As in 2012, the post comes in two parts: a preview and a main post (to follow), though back in the day they ran on Friday night and Sunday, whereas barring unforeseen obstacles we should have the revamped main post up today. To be honest, I haven't had the courage to look too closely at it yet; I'm hoping it can be presented as much as possible "as was," introducing the necessary adjustments and amplifications when we get to Part 2 of "The Minister is coming! The Minister is coming! Don Fernando and the lesson of Fidelio." Which is what I've done with the preview.
Coming up we have two orchestral excerpts. The first, about four minutes, is clearly an introduction to something. (In the click-through we're going to hear it again and take it just a bit further.) The second, a scant minute, is a tiny morsel snatched out of the early going of a staple of the orchestral literature, which we've heard before and will hear again in its entirety in the click-through.


OKAY, OKAY, SO LET'S HEAR OUR EXCERPTS ALREADY

Sunday, July 19, 2020

The Minister is coming! The Minister is coming! Don Fernando and the lesson of Fidelio, Part 1



-- from Beethoven's setting of Schiller's "Ode 'To Joy',"
in the final movement of the Ninth Symphony

Jessye Norman, soprano; Brigitte Fassbaender, mezzo-soprano; Plácido Domingo, tenor; Walter Berry, bass-baritone; Vienna State Opera Concert Chorus, Vienna Philharmonic, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded 1980


NOW, WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH DON FERNANDO?
DON FERNANDO: Our best of kings' will and pleasure
leads me here to you, poor people,
that I may uncover the night of crime,
which black and heavy encompassed all.
No longer kneel down like slaves,
stern tyranny be far from me!
A brother seeks his brothers,
and gladly helps, if help he can.
CHORUS: Hail the day! Hail the hour!
DON FERNANDO: A brother seeks his brothers,
and gladly helps, if help he can. . . .
-- from the final scene of Fidelio

Martti Talvela (bs), Don Fernando; Leipzig Radio Chorus, Staatskapelle Dresden, Karl Böhm, cond. DG, recorded c1968

by Ken

Even a seasoned operagoer may be forgiven for forgetting, even when Don Fernando appears at the top of a Fidelio cast list, as he often does, just who the heck he is. The fact is, if you add to what we've just heard a few lines we're going to hear in a while and just a few more we heard a few weeks ago ("'In this life scoundrels always receive their just desserts': Now that we know the lesson of Don Giovanni, how does it square with the lesson of Fidelio?," June 28), you've got the entire role!

And listen to who we've got singing it! Yes, it's early-career Martti Talvela, but he'd already established himself as a star, and just listen to that voice. There's none of that yawny, slidey quality that settled in dispiritingly quickly. (A reference point: the King Marke he sang in the 1965 live-from-Bayreuth Tristan und Isolde with Birgit Nilsson and Wolfgang Windgassen (and Christa Ludwig the spectacular Brangäne, one of my favorites of her recordings, conducted by, well, as it happens, Karl Böhm.) Here that ringing, booming bass slashes and soars and I'm going to say dazzles with its strength and beauty and ease. I think I need to revisit some more of those early recordings!


BUT THEN, "A-LIST" CASTING OF THE ROLE
IS MORE THE RULE THAN THE EXCEPTION


Sunday, July 12, 2020

Revisiting our musical glimpse into the sublime, Part 2


As I explained last week, in the post "Found Music Dept.: When music that pops into your path grabs hold and won't let go," the "found music" that made such an impact on me came in an early episode of the FX-via-Netflix series Pose, when 17-year-old Damon (Ryan Jamaal Swain), whom we see here making his way to NYC, having been thrown out of his home for dreaming of being a dancer (and, oh yes, being gay), has his world turned upside-down when he gets his first glimpse of real, live ballet, in the form of a dance choreographed to music by the Dance King himself.


Claudio Arrau, piano; Staatskapelle Dresden, Sir Colin Davis, cond. Philips, recorded November 1984

Alfred Brendel, piano; Vienna Philharmonic, Sir Simon Rattle, cond. Philips, recorded February 1998

Leif Ove Andsnes, piano and cond.; Mahler Chamber Orchestra. Sony, recorded in Prague, May 20-21, 2014

by Ken

Of the music in question, I wrote in Part 1 of this week's post earlier today ("Revisiting our musical glimpse into the sublime, Part 1"), "It's a piece I know about as well as I know my own name," which though accurate may have been a trifle misleading, in that these days there are moments when I give some thought to dredge up my name, and the truth is that while I knew the composer right away, it took me a bit to home in on the identity of the piece, of which I went on to write: "I don't think I'd ever heard it in quite this way: as a prime example of Beethoven's singular ability to give us a musical glimpse into the sublime."

The fact that it did take me a bit to make the positive ID puzzled me, and the best guess I came up with is that it stands as the middle movement between two movements I might best describe as "colossal" -- Beethoven at his "E-flat major"-est. There are keys that are known to be hospitable to string instruments, and there are keys known to be hospitable to wind instruments, among which perhaps none is more so than E-flat major, which always lends itself to full-throated musical celebration.

IS THERE ANY MORE FULL-THROATEDLY E-FLAT-MAJOR-ISH
MUSIC THAN THE OUTER MOVEMENTS OF THIS CONCERTO?


Revisiting our musical glimpse into the sublime, Part 1

If what follows looks familiar, these are the performances we heard last week -- except now with the performers identified



Leon Fleisher, piano; Cleveland Orchestra, George Szell, cond. Epic-CBS-Sony, recorded Mar. 3-4, 1961

Emil Gilels, piano; Cleveland Orchestra, George Szell, cond. EMI, recorded Mar.-Apr. 1968

Emil Gilels, piano; Philharmonia Orchestra, Leopold Ludwig, cond. EMI, recorded Apr. 30-May 1, 1957

by Ken

This was supposed to be a ridiculously easy post, before I let it grow in my head -- as I so often do -- into something larger, and something important enough to me that I despair of being able to get it right.

So just to be clear, while we're on the subject of Beethoven's one and only opera, Fidelio, I interrupted this thread last week to share a piece of music that had come at me from an unexpected direction ("Found Music Dept.: When music that pops into your path grabs hold and won't let go"). It's a piece I know about as well as I know my own name, and yet I don't think I'd ever heard it in quite this way: as a prime example of Beethoven's singular ability to give us a musical glimpse into the sublime.


MAYBE I FELT I HAD TO EXPLAIN WHAT I MEAN
BY "A MUSICAL GLIMPSE INTO THE SUBLIME"


Sunday, July 5, 2020

Found Music Dept.: When music that pops into your path grabs hold and won't let go






TWO THINGS TO NOTE EVEN IF YOU DON'T READ MUSIC:
(1) The portion of the music that precedes the entrance of the piano, which I can tell you is a mere 15 bars, which isn't a lot of bars at all, takes us to the minute-and-38-second mark in our first performance, to 1:56 in the more gradual second one, but only to 1:52 in the overall-still-more-gradual third one. (I can tell you that the three performances are interconnected.) This is kind of a lot of playing time for a mere 15 bars of music on the page -- and this is going to be significant for our purposes today.
(2) What's called the "key signature," the stuff that appears at the left of every section of score and in this case is a cluster of "#"-looking things (representing "sharps"), numbers five sharps, which is a lot of sharps, placing us in the key of B major -- not a rarity, exactly, but still kind of "out there" as tonalities go, lending itself to the kind of muted, shaded quality that's so striking in the music; in fact, the marking "con sordino" instructs both first and second violinists to play with their mutes in place. Meanwhile the cellos and basses are playing "pizz." -- i.e., pizzicato, or "plucked," providing a strummed rather than sustained bass accompaniment. I can add (something we can't see or hear from the evidence before us here) that B major is about as startling a wrench as the tonal ear can imagine from the tonality of the movement that directly precedes this one.

by Ken

For reasons we don't have to go into, I have been trying to take in at least enough of the FX(-via-Netflix) series Pose to feel okay about abandoning it. There's enough about it that I do find interesting that I've been able to summon the patience to watch in spurts as long as about 15 minutes. In this fashion I've already managed to get all the way through Episode 2 (of Season 1, of course (the chances of my ever making it to Season 2 aren't looking good). This may not sound like much, but was I ever proud to get two whole episodes logged in!

At one point in Episode 2, for maybe a full minute and a half, I was all but mesmerized. It's when Damon (Ryan Jamaal Swain), the sweet 17-year-old boy who has been thrown out of his home for wanting to be a dancer (and of course for being gay -- pretty much the same thing, no?) and has made his way to NYC to pursue the dream and almost immediately (and utterly believably) had his backpack with all his meager belongings stolen while sleeping in the park, has nevertheless found a home of sorts and struggled his way into a place into a proper dance program, has so impressed his teacher that she has invited him to attend a ballet performance.

What caught me short was the music, which as danced has a mesmerizing effect on Damon but at the same time did a number on me. It's not just that it was such a relief from all the other music littering the soundtrack, but that it was both heart-stoppingly and heart-racingly sublime.

And it isn't even ballet music. I don't doubt that it has been choreographed, and possibly to good effect, but this just isn't music that I would have thought of as "ballet music." I think this becomes more obviously true once the piano joins the proceedings -- I think you can hear that the music generally takes on a somewhat different character once it does, which again becomes important in terms of our purposes today.

Significantly, this is music I know that I do know well, and yet don't remember ever being so powerfully grabbed by. We're going to be doing a fair amount more listening to it, and some pondering upon it, and also some consideration of a kindred piece, when we get to the main post later today. First, though, I've got to make a whole bunch of audio clips, and maybe do a bit of thinking.
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