Wait, who is Timotheus, and why is he crying "Revenge! Revenge!"? (Oh yes, plus a morceau of Fauré, and some other stuff at the end)

No, the image isn't Dryden's Timotheus, per se. It's a vase depiction (proffered by Wikipedia) of 'an' aulos player, as 'our' Timotheus, a musician who had Alexander the Great's ear, happens to have been. Close enough!

"Revenge, revenge! Revenge, Timotheus cries!"


Forbes Robinson (bs); Philip Ledger, cond. (rec. London, 1966)

Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (b); Hans Stadlmair, cond. (rec. Munich, 1977)

Bryn Terfel (bs-b); Sir Charles Mackerras, cond. (rec. Edinburgh, 1997)

by Ken

You know how suddenly you realize a snatch of music is playing in your head, and at least at first you can't think why? At first, in fact, for a bit -- or longer than a bit if you've reached a certain age -- you may not be able to puzzle out what the heck the music is? And even then you may be mystified as to what the heck it's doing in your head? Except that it must surely be connected, somehow!, to something (or things) in your immediate reality?

For me the other day it was a snatch of the above excerpt, a snatch containing just the words "Revenge, Timotheus cries" (or, more likely, "cried" is how my head was remembering it), and I couldn't even shake any other words loose. Until I recollected that for a goodly stretch there aren't any other words.

As to what the heck the snatch was doing in my head, it seemed somehow a good bet that it had something to do with thoughts of, you know, revenge. You'd figure that the context of the snatch would provide vital clues. Having tracked down the source of the snatch, I wasn't overly optimistic, since Handel's Alexander's Feast isn't a piece I've ever thought about (or listened to) much. In fact, my acquaintance with the air generally known as "Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries" never had much to do with Handel's setting of Dryden's Alexander's Feast.

No, it was the number that popped out to me from the swell LP of Handel bass arias from which the Forbes Robinson performance comes -- a part of the substantial swelling of 1960s interest, following ground-laying pokings-at in the 1950s, in Handel's vast "beyond Messiah" catalog of dramatic works -- the oratorios as well as the operas, and a range of other large-scale vocal feasts, like Alexander's Feast, which is effectively "another" Ode for St. Cecilia's Day.

The Fischer-Dieskau recording, though from a later decade, reminds us that the 1960s produced not one but two fine stereo recordings of Handel's opera Julius Caesar, the earlier one notable for Beverly Sills's "breakthrough" role, Cleopatra, as well as Norman Treigle's Caesar; the later one featuring Fischer-Dieskau in the title role, partnered by Tatiana Troyanos. Whereas by Bryn Terfel's time, a mainstream opera singer recording a whole program of Handel arias seemed hardly a novelty.

Fischer-Dieskau's'60s recording life, by the way, was bracketed by Giulio Cesare -- not just finishing in April 1969 with the complete recording, in Munich, conducted by Karl Richter, but beginning in April 1960 with an LP's worth of "Arias and Scenes of Cleopatra and Caesar," partnered with Irmgard Seefried, in Berlin with that noted baroque stylist Karl Böhm.


OKAY, BUT WE STILL WANT TO HEAR THE CONTEXT OF
"REVENGE, REVENGE, TIMOTHEUS CRIES," DON'T WE?

Sure, we can do that. Why not?

HANDEL: Alexander's Feast: Part II, Air, "Revenge, revenge! Revenge, Timotheus cries!" . . . "Behold, a ghastly band"

Air
Revenge, revenge! Revenge, Timotheus cries!
See the furies arise!
See the snakes that they rear,
how they hiss in their hair,
and the sparkles that flash in their eyes!
Accompanied recitative
Behold, a ghastly band,
each a torch in his hand!
Those are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain,
and unburied remain,
inglorious on the plain.
Repeat of air
Revenge, revenge! Revenge, Timotheus cries!&c.

-- text by John Dryden

Google asks: "Who is Timotheus in Alexander's Feast?"
A: "The musician Timotheus controls the emotions of the great hero through his musical whims. He stirs Alexander to prideful arrogance fueled by Bacchus, only to bring him down with a mournful reminder of his fallen and worthy adversary Darius."

Forbes Robinson, bass; Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, Philip Ledger, harpsichord and cond. Argo, recorded in Kingsway Hall, London, Sept. 9, 1966

Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, baritone; Hedwig Bilgrim, harpsichord; Munich Chamber Orchestra, Hans Stadlmair, cond. DG, recorded in the Herkulessaal of the Residenz, October 1977

Bryn Terfel, bass-baritone; John Fisher, harpsichord; Scottish Chamber Orchestra, Sir Charles Mackerras, cond. DG, recorded in Usher Hall, Edinburgh, July 1997

You'll note that none of our soloists is exactly thrilled to have to do the moderate bits of ornamental passagework embedded in the part; it's more of a case of I-grit-my-teeth-and-I-will-as-God-is-my-witness-get-through-this, which isn't exactly what Handel had in mind. He thought he was adding some pizzazz to the vocal line and giving his singers chances to show off what they can do. Well, times change.

You'll also note that Forbes Robinson's bass is a markedly different sort of instrument from Fischer-Dieskau's or Bryn Terfel's baritone. In Handel's time, of course, the baritone category hadn't been devised yet to account for voices that fall between tenor and bass; these would all have been basses, though not basses of the same sort. I like all three performances, but I especially like the tonal weight Robinson brings. And I really like the brave orchestral format, especially Mackerras's Scottish Chamber Orchestra and, better still, Philip Ledger's Academy of St. Martins.

So I've had fun revisiting these three performances, and it's lovely to notice Handel playing a trick with the ever-popular baroque "da capo" or "A-B-A" aria form, consisting of an opening "air," followed by a contrasting section, followed by a repeat of the opening section. Note that here the "B" section is an accompanied recitative!

Still nothing here helps connect the "revenge" motif to my current life.


I MAY HAVE AN IDEA HOW "REVENGE" HAS CREPT INTO
MY HEAD, AND IT LEADS US TO ANOTHER MUSICAL CUE

If you happened to be around late on the night of Monday, February 22, 2016 (the post actually went up at 2am on Tuesday the 23rd, which is the date it bears), you'll recognize the piece in question.



Krzysztof Smietana, violin; John Blakely, piano. Meridian, released c1994

In fact, the title on this printed edition of the Sicilienne isn't quite accurate. The Sicilienne is indeed Fauré's Op. 78, but this isn't exactly it. As Fauré wrote the piece, it's for cello and piano; this version for violin or flute and piano is an arrangement.

The little Sicilienne has been adapted for so many instrumentations that the total seems upwards of a zillion. Wikipedia has a list of versions that have actually been recorded, which -- setting aside the ones we're going to be taking note of -- includes: >bassoon and piano, cello and guitar, cello and harp, flute and guitar, guitar and orchestra, solo guitar, solo harp, oboe and piano, panpipes and piano, saxophone and orchestra, saxophone quartet, tuba and piano, viola and piano, vocal ensemble, and voice and harp

None of these is from the composer's hand. Unless I've missed a turn somewhere, easy enough to do in this twisting journey, we have in circulation only two versions directly traceable to him -- and neither of them is in fact the original version, which in fact was never performed!

I think what we'll do is hear the two "authentic" Fauré-an versions as they appear in the history of the Sicilienne traced by Wikipeda.


[1] FAURÉ: Sicilienne for cello and piano, Op. 78

In 1892 the manager of the Grand Théâtre, Paris, asked the composer Camille Saint-Saëns to write incidental music for a production of Molière's Le bourgeois gentilhomme. Saint-Saëns was too busy to accept the commission, and successfully recommended his friend and former pupil Fauré. The music, which included the first version of the Sicilienne, was nearly complete when the theatre went bankrupt in 1893. The production was abandoned and the music remained unperformed.

Five years later, Fauré arranged the work for cello and piano. The Fauré scholar Jean-Michel Nectoux writes that the transcription was made for the Dutch cellist Joseph Hollman. It was published in London and Paris in April 1898, with a dedication to the English cellist W. H. Squire. . . .

The cello-and-piano version is in G minor in 6/8 time. It is marked andantino with a metronome mark of dotted crotchet = 50. The full orchestral version, also G minor [oops, we've actually jumped ahead here; the reference is to the other composer-created version -- Ed.], is marked allegretto molto moderato. The playing time of the piece is typically between three and a half and four minutes.

Steven Isserlis, cello; Pascal Devoyon, piano. RCA, released 1995

Julian Lloyd Webber, cello; John Lenehan, piano. EMI, released 2006

Frédéric Lodéon, cello; Jean-Philippe Collard, piano. EMI, recorded 1976-78

Every cellist plays the Sicilienne. These guys do it at the pro level. Steven Isserlis is at once bold and sweeping and intimate and lyrical. Julian Lloyd Webber (the distinguished cello-playing brother of you-know-who) adds some winning gentleness but still maintains a secure level of command. And Frédéric Lodéon and Jean-Philippe Collard remind us that there is still something very French about this music; they don't need to exhibit flamboyance to hold our attention -- they speak Fauré's musical language.


[2] FAURÉ: Pelléas et Mélisande: Suite from the
incidental music, Op. 80: iii. Sicilienne

[Back to Wikipedia] At the same time [as the making of the cello-and-piano Sicilienne -- Ed.], Fauré was working on incidental music for the first English production of Maurice Maeterlinck's play Pelléas et Mélisande, which opened in June 1898. Needing a lighthearted piece for one of the few playful scenes in the drama, he included the Sicilienne along with the new music he wrote for the production. His former pupil Charles Koechlin orchestrated the score for the theatre orchestra of 16 players.

The final form of the Sicilienne is in the four-movement Pelléas et Mélisande Suite for full orchestra, arranged by Fauré and published in 1909. Nectoux notes that the final orchestration differs from Fauré's original 1893 version, written for chamber-sized theatre orchestra: in particular, the main theme is given to the oboe in the original score and to the flute in the final version in the suite.

Orchestre de Paris, Serge Baudo, cond. EMI, recorded June 1969

Doriot Anthony Dwyer, flute; Boston Symphony Orchestra, Seiji Ozawa, cond. DG, recorded in Symphony Hall, November 1986

Once again the home team (i.e., Serge Baudo and his Parisians) may seem to operate with a more muted tone-color palette, but they have a lovely sense of how to balance as well as contrast those colors. Seiji Ozawa shows himself as a master colorist here, and doesn't the BSO play beautifully?

BEFORE WE MOVE ON, I THOUGHT WE MIGHT
LIKE TO HEAR THE WHOLE PELLÉAS SUITE

FAURÉ: Pelléas et Mélisande: Suite from the
incidental music, Op. 80:
i. Prélude: Quasi adagio
ii. Fileuse: Andantino quasi allegretto
iii. Sicilienne: Allegro molto moderato
iv. La Mort de Mélisande (The Death of Mélisande): Molto adagio


[i. at 0:01, ii. at 6:51, iii. at 9:27, iv. at 13:16]
Philadelphia Orchestra, Charles Munch, cond. Columbia-CBS-Sony, recorded at the Philadelphia Athletic Club, Mar. 14, 1963

After his 13 years in Boston, having left not just the BSO but RCA behind, Charles Munch slipped into Philadelphia and in short order recorded a whole bunch of "his" repertory, and has a ball discovering the bit "more" the Philadelphia Orchestra has to give if you think to ask them.


WITH OUR EARS FILLED WITH THE ORCHESTRAL SICILIENNE,
WE CAN RECOGNIZE ONE ARRANGEMENT AS A NO-BRAINER

I'm thinking of an arrangement for flute and harp -- isn't this clearly apropos? A widely used one was made by the composer-conductor Henri Büsser, probably best known to us as the conductor of the 1930 complete recording of Gounod's Faust with the great tenor César Vezzani as Faust and the great bass Marcel Journet as Méphisto.

FAURÉ: Sicilienne, Op. 78 (arr. Büsser for flute and harp)


Jean-Pierre Rampal, flute; Marielle Nordmann, harp. Sony Classical, recorded in the Salle Adyar, Paris, 1987

Duo Urban Berlin (Stephanie Wilbert, flute; Alma Klemm, harp). Live performance in Dance Studio "La Caminada," Berlin, May 2020

It's a very French thing, this combination of flute and harp, and for all Jean-Pierre Rampal's international celebrity, he never lost his native sensibilities, and he finds a fine collaborator in his countrywoman Marielle Nordmann. The young German team brings a lot of enthusiasm to the music, undimmed by the growing undertanding of the challenges wrought by the pandemic.

Well, why not a version for flute and piano?


Emmanuel Pahud, flute; Eric Le Sage, piano. Skorbo, released 1996

Juliette Hurel, flute; Hélène Couvert, piano. Zig Zag Territoires, recorded in the Église de Bon Secours, Paris, Oct. 18-22, 2010

In his long tenure as a principal flutist with the Berlin Philharmonic, Emmanuel Pahud has shown himself capable of such assertiveness that it's a happy surpise to find him in such an easygoing frame of mind back near the start of his Berlin time (he was a stupefyingly precocious 22 or 23 when he took up his post!) -- his and Eric Le Sage's performance wears well. Juliette Hurel and Hélène Couvert drive the piece a little harder and sustain it nicely.

And if there's a flute-and-piano version, either
that or a custom version can be played on the violin

Surely the violin is entitled to a claim to the Sicilienne. It is, after all, part of the "solo team" in Fauré's full-orchestra version. And the first use Fauré found for the never-performed Sicilienne was for a string instrument, the cello. We might register one caveat: A part written for a solo flute may sound, without a little tricking up, kind of plain played by a solo violin, and in our examples we're going to hear performances we might describe as plain and fancy and "then-some."

It happens that a violin-piano version is just where we wanted to wind up. Perhaps you'll recognize this score image.

Alban Beikircher, violin; Roy Howat, arr. and piano. Arte Nova, released 2004

Gil Shaham, violin; Akira Eguchi, piano. Canary Classics, recorded at the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, New York City, July 2003
Daniel Hope, violin; Christoph Israel, piano. DG-ARTE Network, live-streamed and recorded in Daniel's living-room studio in Berlin, HOPE&HOME, 2020-21


À LA RECHERCHE DE SQUAT COBBLER

[The complete post can still be accessed here.]

Yes, on the night of Monday, February 22, 2016, Episode 2 of Season 2 of Better Call Saul premiered, kicking off with a pair of hands starting up a metronome in a darkened house that pretty clearly had to be the rigorously de-electrified home of super-lawyer Chuck McGill (Michael McKean), older-and-wiser (and smugger) brother of the future Saul Goodman, Jimmy McGill (Bob Odenkirk). Then we got this glimpse of a score page on a piano music stand, bearing the mysterious-to-us name "Rebecca Bois." Then there were hands on the piano keyboard, and it was indeed the Fauré Sicilienne, being played . . .

. . . by Chuck! Except that he wasn't playing just the piano part, he was incorporating the solo part -- in the absence of a flutist or violinist, like for example the mysterious Rebecca, whom we would soon enough learn was the violinist ex-wife (eventually played by Ann Cusack) who had left Chuck, before the onset of his crippling allergy to electricity -- though the events may not have been entirely unrelated. We were left with the tantalizing detail that the onset of Chuck's "illness" pretty much coincided with his divorce.

Now while Episode 2 of Season 2 may have started out as the "Ohmygosh, Chuck plays the piano!" episode, as I noted in that 2016 post, its title is "Cobbler," which refers to one of Jimmy's most memorable improvisations: the invention, in the interest of exculpating a guilty-as-all-get-out client, of one of the most peculiar -- and somehow unbelievably upsetting human sexual peccadillos, "squat cobbler." (If you don't know and you can't guess -- and I'm not at all sure you can guess if you don't know -- then, well, I'm not going to be the one to explain it.)

Is the world ready for squat cobbler? Can anyone ever be ready for squat cobbler? With Jimmy's egregiously inept and hopelessly guilty client "Pryce" (not his real name, of course; played so sublimely by Mark Proksch) banished from the interrogation room, though still side-splittingly visible through the window into the squad room -- Jimmy drops the stomach-churning pie-bomb on the unsuspecting detectives.

And this is where those endless Timothean exhortations to "Revenge" come in. With AMC set to begin rolling out the final episodes of Better Call Saul starting this very Monday evening, I've been immersed in binge-watching the previous five seasons. There are only 10 episodes per season, so the total number shouldn't be that unmanageable, except that the DVDs (which I've been ploddingly gathering in from branch libraries across the New York and Brooklyn Public Libraries) contain audio commentaries for every damned episode, with one or both showrunners, Vince Giligan and Peter Gould, always present and a rotating coterie of the astounding assemblage of talent on all sides of the cameras who have made the series one of the most extraordinary creative undertakings I've ever encountered.

I thought I was going to allow myself the indulgence of writing just a little about the show, set up by my cheesy music cues. But I'll spare you that, especially in the interest of getting this post, finally, up.

Of course once it's up, I still want to finally be able to listen to the gathered audio clips as I've gathered them, which for any newcomers I should explain I've found no way -- since my bloghost "improved" its formatting -- to do until the post is actually published. You'll note that in several places I've left place-holders for "peformance notes" to be added. As soon as my brain clears enough.

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