If we're musical-lark-harking, we really need to count the number of: (1) "hark"s and (2) stanzas ["finally" (?) updated version]

[SUNDAY'S ORIGINAL "CONSTRUCTION-ZONE" NOTE: Proceed at your own risk. (It's the usual thing. I've gotta, and I mean just gotta, be able to see 'n' hear this thing with the audio clips in place.)]

[MONDAY "FINALLY (?) UPDATED VERSION" NOTE: With all those elements in place, I'm content to leave this post more or less as-was, with occasional added comments -- plus the promise of a follow-up focusing on the Schubert "Ständchen," even venturing into the totally unrelated but much better-known "Schubert Ständchen," the one from Schwanengesang. -- Ed.]

*          *          *

Shakespeare, you'll recall, wrote just one stanza of "Hark, hark the lark" for Act II, Scene 3, of Cymbeline. We've already heard these two very different musical settings (in, admittedly, very different German translations), but not these performances. Let's listen just to this much.

"Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
and Phoebus 'gins arise,
his steeds to water at those springs
on chaliced flowers that lies;
and winking Mary-buds begin
to ope their golden eyes:
with every thing that pretty is,
my lady sweet, arise:
arise, arise!"

-- Cloten's song from Cymbeline, Act II, Scene 3

(1) "Hark, hark!" ("Hark" total = 2)

SCHUBERT: "Ständchen" (Serenade): "Horch, horch, die Lerch' im Ätherblau" ("Hark, hark, the lark in heaven's blue"), D. 889

[German translation by August Wilhelm von Schlegel]

Rolf Reinhardt, piano. Deutsche Schallplatten-Gemeinschaft, recorded 1962

(2) Just a single "Hark!" ("Hark" total = 1)

NICOLAI: The Merry Wives of Windsor: Act II, Scene 4: romance, Fenton, "Horch', die Lerche singt im Hain" ("Hark, the lark sings in the meadow")

[German translation by Ferdinand Mayerhofer]

Bavarian State Orchestra, Robert Heger, cond. EMI, recorded Feb.-Mar. 1963

Wait, what about the singer? Probably you recognized him right away. If not, better still! You're making the acquaintance of somebody really special -- we'll have full credits when we hear these performances in full. (You no doubt noticed that I cut them off once the stanza taken over from Shakespeare was done.)

by Ken

You may remember that last week, in writing about that fine English pianist Imogen Cooper's October 2022 choices for BBC Music Magazine's "Music that changed me" feature (choices that "not only genuinely did change her life but make glorious listening for us"), I mentioned that even as I was discovering in the magazine feature that Dame Imogen is the daughter of the distinguished English musicologist and critic Martin Cooper, I happened to be perusing her father's lengthy and informative booklet essay for the Decca recording of Otto Nicolai's opera The Merry Wives of Windsor conducted by Rafael Kubelik for yet another long-simmering Sunday Classics project.

Which is to say: a follow-up to the October 16 post, in which I wrote about a long-long-ago SC post gathering what I think of as the three great musical lark depictions: Haydn's Lark Quartet, Vaughan Williams's rhapsody for violin and orchestra The Lark Ascending, and the gorgeous "romance" from Nicolai's Merry Wives, "Horch', die Lerche singt im Hain" ("Hark, the lark is singing in the meadow," derived from Shakespeare's Cymbeline song "Hark, hark, the lark"), in which the hopelessly-love-besotted young Fenton sings a wake-up serenade to his adored Anna Reich.

I was angling to exhume the old "lark" post and restore it to working order, for which I started by making a pile of new audio clips, only to discover I couldn't figure out how to merge my "then" and "now" selves for such a rehab job. Instead what I set out to do was to spit the "lark" pile into instrumental larks (Haydn's and Vaughan Williams's) and "singing" larks (Nicolai's and a fourth musical lark I'd added to the mix: Schubert's "Ständchen" (Serenade), "Horch, horch, die Lerch' im Ätherblau" of -- yes! -- "Hark, hark, the lark."

In that Merry Wives introductory note, my eye stuck on Martin Cooper suggestion that Fenton's romance is "almost worthy of Schubert." As I think about it, I think this makes a good deal of sense, but what stopped me was the coincidence (?) that Schubert himself had actually done his own "Hark, hark, the lark" setting -- and it's nothing like Nicolai's. Which brings us to the question of how many "hark"s we can count in the Nicolai and Schubert settings.

Soon to be a post of some sort (or maybe not), for anyone in need of some bucking up (courtesy of the master bucker-up, W. A. Mozart)

FRIDAY UPDATE: Now doubled in size!
(See "BACK TO THE BEGINNING" addition below)

Gerhard Unger as David in Die Meistersinger at Bayreuth, 1951

MOZART: Die Entführung aus dem Serail (The Abduction from the Seraglio), K. 384:
Act II, Aria (Pedrillo), "Frisch zum Kampfe" ("Brightly into battle")



Gerhard Unger (t), Pedrillo; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Sir Thomas Beecham, cond. EMI, recorded in Kingsway Hall, May 9-25, 1956

Gerhard Unger (t), Pedrillo; Vienna Philharmonic, Josef Krips, cond. EMI, recorded in the Theater an der Wien, February 1966

Murray Dickie (t), Pedrillo; Vienna Philharmonic, George Szell, cond. Live performance from the Salzburg Festival, July 25, 1956

Michel Sénéchal (t), Pedrillo; Paris Conservatory Orchetra, Hans Rosbaud, cond. Live performance from the Aix-en-Provence Festival, July 11, 1954

Robert Gambill (t), Pedrillo; Vienna Symphony Orchestra, Bruno Weil, cond. Sony, recorded in the Sofiensaal, Apr. 2-10, 1991

Plácido Domingo, tenor; Munich Radio Orchestra, Eugene Kohn, cond. EMI, recorded in Bavarian Radio Studio 1, January 1991

by Ken

While I continue to struggle -- or maybe not so much "struggle" as "be paralyzed by" -- writing about things that oughtn't to be that difficult, more of a struggle than with some other things I expected would be hard, I thought I could use some bucking up. Which for me means channeling the master bucker-up, in particular a number that would do the job for me if music could really do this job: Pedrillo's Act II aria, in which he does his best to buck himself up -- to give himself courage he's probably pretty sure he doesn't have. With [UPDATE! now --] two exceptions, we've heard the performances arrayed above before. I don't see why we shouldn't hear them again, though.

Plot-function-wise Pedrillo, the second tenor of Die Entführung aus dem Serail, is a comic foil to the romantic lead, Belmonte. Still, it can be a swell role, with a string of great ensemble and also solo opportunities. It's written for what's usually called a Spieltenor, a "play" or comic tenor, of which perhaps the most distinguished recorded specimen we have is Gerhard Unger (1916-2011), who sang, and I mean really sang, these roles for so long with such distinction. And he needed all his vocal resources for Pedrillo's bravura aria, which takes him high up and drops him way down -- notably in all the settings of that line that so haunts Pedrillo, "Nur ein feiger Tropf verzagt" ("Only a cowardly rascal loses heart"). With regard to the "Frisch zum Kampfe" with Beecham, I have to say, doesn't Sir Thomas create a whoppingly grand -- I think we might say utterly battle-worthy -- framework?

[UPDATE -- re, our 2nd "new" clip (for the 1st, see below):

Inaugural Edition, no. 6: Fornow, no explanations, just music (that's the theory, anyways): Two operatic chunks, by Debussy and Verdi, that have lodged in my head

Plus, we're going to wind up (think of it as a "bonus"
of sorts) with yet another stupendous operatic scene

[TUESDAY EVENING NOTE: Since initial posting, this piece has undergone variously significant updating scattered all through it, with possibly more to come -- if I get up the courage to wade into the thing.]

You'd think it'd be a snap to find a shot (no pun intended) of the Prison Scene from Don Carlos. Hah! In the spirit of last week's makeshift "Mélisande tower" (which I'm embarrassed to report we're going to be seeing again), I've wound up making do with, you know, "a prison."

VERDI: Don Carlos: Act IV [or III], Scene 2, Death of the Marquis of Posa ("Che parli tu di morte?" . . . "O Carlo, ascolta" . . . "Io morrò, ma lieto in core")

Recitative, "Che parli tu di morte?" -- and surprise!
DON CARLOS [trembling]: Why do you talk of death?
RODRIGO: Listen! Time grows short.
I have turned back onto me the terrible thunderbolt.
Today it's no longer you who are the rival of the king.
The bold agitator for Flanders -- it's I!
DON CARLOS: Who could possibly believe that?
RODRIGO: The proofs are tremendous!
Your papers, found in my possession,
are clear testaments to rebellion,
and on this head for certain
a price has already been set!
[Two men are now seen descending the prison staircase: One of them is dressed in the garb of the Holy Office; the other is armed with an arquebus. They stop for a moment and point out to one another DON CARLOS and RODRIGO, by whom they are unseen.]
DON CARLOS: I will reveal everything to the King!
RODRIGO: No, save yourself for Flanders!
save yourself for the great work that you will have to accomplish.
A new golden age you will cause to be reborn;
you were meant to reign, and I to die for you!
[The bearer of the arquebus now takes aim at RODRIGO and fires.]
DON CARLOS [stupefied]: Heavens! Death! but for whom?
RODRIGO [mortally wounded]: For me!
The vengeance of the king couldn't be delayed!
[Falls into the arms of DON CARLOS]
DON CARLOS: Great God!
Recitative, "O Carlo, ascolta"
RODRIGO: Oh Carlos, listen! Your mother, at San Yust,
tomorrow will expect you -- she knows everything.
Ah! the ground gives way beneath me --
my Carlos, give me your hand --
Aria, "Io morrò, ma lieto in core"
I die, but light of heart,
since I have thus been able to preserve
for Spain a savior.
Ah! do not forget me!
Do not forget me!
You were meant to rule,
and I to die for you!
Ah! I die, but light of heart,
since I have thus been able to preserve
for Spain a savior.
Ah! do not forget me!
Ah! the ground gives way beneath me!
Ah! do not forget me!
Give me your hand . . . give me . . .
Carlos, farewell! Ah! ah!
[RODRIGO dies. CARLOS falls, in despair, on his body.]

["O Carlo, ascolta" at 1:37; "Io morrò" at 2:39] Robert Merrill (b), Marquis of Posa; with Jussi Bjoerling (t), Don Carlos; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Fritz Stiedry, cond. Live performance, Nov. 11, 1950

["O Carlo, ascolta" at 1:29; "Io morrò" at 2:31] Robert Merrill (b), Marquis of Posa; with Giulio Gari (t), Don Carlos; Metropolitan Opera Orchestra, Fausto Cleva, cond. Live performance, Apr. 4, 1959

by Ken

I mean it: no talking. Or hardly any. Otherwise we'll never get anywhere. (If you read on, you may wonder at the application of this theory. You would be entirely within your rights. No refunds will be available, however. Meanwhile, I'm thinking that if I just go ahead and post this "as is," it'll be sufficiently embarrassing to force me to go back and at least fill in the more obvious gaps. I'm not confident that much can be done with the stuff between the gaps.)

Some other time I can explain how these particular scenes took up lodging in my brain. One of them, as I trust you've noticed, is the Prison Scene from Verdi's Don Carlos (the first scene of Act IV in the original five-act version; of Act III in the truncated four-act one), which I've heard pared down here to just the actual death of Rodrigo, the Marquis of Posa. We're going to be hearing a bunch more times in more proper context: with what precedes it in this scene . . . .


THAT IS, RIGHT AFTER WE HEAR OUR OTHER SCENE,
THE ONE WE BEGAN LISTENING TO LAST WEEK . . .

Nicolai Gedda (1925-2017)

10pm ET UPDATE: We have Yevgeny Onegin audio files!

Anneliese Rothenberger and Nicolai Gedda as Constanze
and Belmonte in Mozart's Abduction from the Seraglio,
from the cover of their 1966 EMI recording

MOZART: The Abduction from the Seraglio, K. 384: Overture and Belmonte's entrance aria, "Hier soll ich dich denn sehen?"

BELMONTE: Here am I then to see you,
Constanze -- you, my happiness?
Let Heaven make it happen!
Give me my peace back!
I suffered sorrows,
o Love, all too many of them.
Grant me now in their place joys
and bring me toward the goal.

[aria at 4:35] Nicolai Gedda (t), Belmonte; Vienna Philharmonic, Josef Krips, cond. EMI, recorded February 1966

Now here it is sung by a younger, fresher-voiced Nicolai --

[aria at 4:20] Nicolai Gedda (t), Belmonte; Paris Conservatory Orchestra, Hans Rosbaud, cond. Recorded live at the Aix-en-Provence Festival, July 11, 1954

Finally, here it is sung in English (from a complete Abduction
recording based on a Phoenix Opera Group production) --

[in English; aria at 4:10] Nicolai Gedda (t), Belmonte; Bath Festival Orchestra, Yehudi Menuhin, cond. EMI, recorded Oct.-Dec. 1967 (now available in Chandos's opera-in-English series)

by Ken

Although Nicolai Gedda continued singing publicly well into his 70s, he had, not surprisingly, slipped out of the international circuit well before then, and since he was 91 when he died on February 8, in Switzerland, it may be that to younger music lovers the Swedish tenor is just a name, if that. But there was a time, and a fairly long one at that, when he seemed to be everywhere, singing more or less everything -- at least everything assumable by a generous-voiced lyric tenor, in the wide range of languages in which he sang with both technical and expressive assurance.


I NEVER THOUGHT OF OUR NICOLAI AS A FAVORITE
SINGER. IT'S MORE THAT HE WAS ALWAYS THERE.

Sunday Classics snapshots: Comfort ye

Tenor James Johnston's "Comfort ye" recording was an
inspiration to me, but we're still not going to hear it.

"I see the church as a field hospital after battle. It is useless to ask a seriously injured person if he has high cholesterol and about the level of his blood sugars. You have to heal the wounds. Then we can talk about everything else. Heal the wounds."

-- Pope Francis, in an August 2013 interview,
quoted in a new NYRB blogpost by Garry Wills

"Cry unto her that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned"

Recitative
Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness: Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Aria
Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low, the crooked straight, and the rough places plain.

Nicolai Gedda, tenor; Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, cond. EMI, recorded 1965

Jon Vickers, tenor; Toronto Symphony Orchestra, Sir Ernest MacMillan, cond. RCA, recorded c1953

Jon Vickers, tenor; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, Sir Thomas Beecham, cond. RCA, recorded 1959

[in German] Fritz Wunderlich, tenor; Stuttgart Radio Symphony Orchestra, Heinz Mendes, cond. Live performance, Mar. 20, 1959

"Thou who art good and kind, rescue me from everlasting fire"

I groan as one who is accused;
guilt reddens my cheek;
Thy supplicant, Thy supplicant spare, O God.
Thou who absolved Mary,
and harkened to the thief,
and who hast given me hope,
and who hast given me hope.
My prayers are worthless,
but Thou who art good and kind,
rescue me from everlasting fire.
With Thy sheep give me a place,
and from the goats keep me separate,
placing me at Thy right hand.

Nicolai Gedda, tenor; Philharmonia Orchestra, Carlo Maria Giulini, cond. EMI, recorded 1963-64

Jon Vickers, tenor; New Philharmonia Orchestra, Sir John Barbirolli, cond. EMI, recorded April 1970

Fritz Wunderlich, tenor; South German Radio Symphony Orchestra, Helmut Müller-Kray, cond. Live performance, Nov. 2, 1960

by Ken

Last Sunday I offered a post called "Garry Wills, contemplating Pope Francis and his critics, says there are 'two forms of Christianity now on offer' -- and it's up to Catholics to choose" which began with the quote from the pope that I've placed atop this post as well, since it is rather obviously the inspiration for today's pair of musical "snapshots" -- pieces that are both intensely personal to me, and that we've dwelled upon at some length in past posts.

Fresh from the challenge, in the first of these "snapshot" posts, "Rosina I and Rosina II," of finding a singer, namely Victoria de los Angeles, to put in the lead-off slot singing both Rossini's young Rosina (in The Barber of Seville) and Mozart's only slightly older but sadly way more mature Rosina (aka Countess Almaviva in The Marriage of Figaro), I was pleased to come up with our three tenors singing the similarly improbable combo of the opening vocal number of Handel's Messiah and the heart-rending "Ingemisco" from the "Dies Irae" of Verdi's Requiem. We've actually heard all of the above performances of "Comfort ye" and "Ev'ry valley" (and once again I couldn't resist including both Vickers recordings); I just needed to add the Gedda and Vickers "Ingemisco" performances.


OF COURSE WE'RE NOT GOING TO LET IT REST THERE!

My dark history with the rollicking opening of Act II of Donizetti's "Elixir of Love"

[With a certain amount of restorative touching up, including insertion of some of the missing English texts, but not including replacement of the now-gone crappy video clip, in February 2020]


At the Met this past October, conductor Maurizio Benini (with baritone Mariusz Kwiecien as the blustering Sgt. Belcore) seemed to think the thing to do with this wonderful little chorus that opens Act II of L'Elisir d'amore is to slam-bang your way through it. I think we've already heard a better solution.

by Ken

Partway through the spring trimester of my junior year in college I stopped going to classes. Just stopped clean. Oh, it wasn't an intentional class stoppage at the outset. It just felt better not going than going. After a while, though, it became a clean break. I knew there would be consequences, and I decided I would deal with them when the time came. (Ironically, by the time the time came, the entire fall trimester, during which I re-demonstrated my ability to discharge my academic responsibilities, had come and gone. I detected a whiff of irony in the righeous wrath that descended at this remove in time, but nobody else involved was in irony-detection mode.)

I don't want to point fingers here, but the principal activity with which I filled those now-blissfully-freed-up class hours was listening to a recording I happened just to have acquired at the college bookstore: the very recording of Donizetti's Elixir of Love to which we happen to have been listening, and in particular to the opening of Act II.


L'ELISIR D'AMORE IS THE EARLIER OF
DONIZETTI'S TWO COMIC MASTERPIECES

Don Pasquale (1843) is undoubtedly the more urbane and sophisticated,, but I don't know that I could rate it any deeper, more moving, or more satisfying than the country-bumpkinish L'Elisir (1832). If we start by getting that infernal idea of "better" or "worse" out of our heads, I think we can already hear the strikingly different ways in which the two pieces work just from their orchestral introductions -- a prelude in the case of L'Elisir, a fuller-fledged overture in the case of Don Pasquale.

First let's hear the Prelude and jolly opening chorus of L'Elisir d'amore.

DONIZETTI: L'Elisir d'amore: Prelude and Opening Chorus
[We're by a riverbank at the entrance to the farm of ADINA, where jolly harvesters from the village are noting that the scorch of love's flame is even harder to protect against than that of the overhead midday sun.]

Antonella Bandelli (s), Giannetta; Chorus and Orchestra of the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, Gabriele Ferro, cond. DG, recorded November 1986

Renza Jotti (s), Giannetta; Chorus and Orchestra of the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, Gianandrea Gavazzeni, cond. Live performance, June 1967

Angela Arena (s), Giannetta; Rome Opera Chorus and Orchestra, Francesco Molinari-Pradelli, cond. EMI, recorded August 1966

Preview: There's something about the opening of Act II of Donizetti's "Elixir of Love"

Leo Nucci (Sgt. Belcore), Ildebrando d'Arcangelo (Dr. Dulcamara), Inna Los (Giannetta), and Anna Netrebko (Adina) in the opening of Act II of Donizetti's L'Elisir d'amore, conducted by Alfred Eschwé and directed by Otto Schenk, at the Vienna State Opera, April 2005 (we have Italian-English texts below)

by Ken

Donizetti's magical Elixir of Love would be amply worth our attention even if it didn't contain one of the most memorable of tenor arias. We already heard a bunch of fine performances of "Una furtiva lagrima in the December 2011 post "The old minor-to-major switcheroo as practiced by Schubert, Mahler, and Donizetti" (and the preview), but there's a reason why I'm adding this performance.

DONIZETTI: L'Elisir d'amore: Act II, Aria, Nemorino,
"Una furtiva lagrima" ("A furtive tear")

A furtive tear
welled up in her eye.
Those carefree girls
she seemed to envy.
Why should I look any further?
She loves me, yes, she loves me.
I can see it, I can see it.

To feel for just one moment
the beating of her dear heart!
To blend my sighs
for a little with hers!
Heavens, I could die;
I ask for nothing more.
I could die of love.

-- English translation by Kenneth Chalmers

Nicolai Gedda (t), Nemorino; Rome Opera Orchestra, Francesco Molinari-Pradelli, cond. EMI, recorded August 1966

L'Elisir would also be more than worth our time even if it didn't have this particular Act II opening, which we're going to hear as performed in the same recording of the opera.

How Massenet and Puccini make Manon and des Grieux matter to us

MANON [sad and resigned]: Come now, Manon, no more chimeras,
where your mind goes while dreaming!
Leave these ephemeral desires
at the door of your convent!
Come now, Manon, no more desires, no more chimeras!

Beverly Sills (s), Manon Lescaut; New Philharmonia Orchestra, Julius Rudel, cond. ABC-DG, recorded July 1970

by Ken

This is the 16-year-old Manon of Massenet's Act I, arrived in Amiens by coach where she has been met -- and promptly abandoned -- by her cousin Lescaut for dumping off to a convent. (We're going to hear a fuller version of this scene later.)

A few weeks ago I began poking around The Story of the Chévalier des Grieux and Manon Lescaut (the title of the novel by the Abbé Prévost which formed the basis for all the subsequent adaptations) as it was shaped by Jules Massenet for his operatic Manon. Then in Friday's preview we switched over to Puccini's later rendering, which he distinguished by calling it Manon Lescaut.

The last thing I'm interested in is seeing which opera is "better." They seem to me wonderfully complementary, a classic case of two great storytellers who tell the same story, which comes out somewhat different because of their different sensibilities, emphases, and audiences. And I think looking at both operas helps us focus on what makes the story of these doomed lovers so enduringly fascinating.

Let's start by going back to the beginnings of both operas. We already heard the brief Prelude to Massenet's opera, but let's hear it again, first in a performance we already heard, then in one we didn't.

MASSENET: Manon: Prelude

New Philharmonia Orchestra, Julius Rudel, cond. ABC-DG, recorded July 1970

Orchestra of the Capitole de Toulouse, Michel Plasson, cond. EMI, recorded July 1982

Massenet's curtain rises on a "genre" scene at the inn in Amiens where Manon and des Grieux are going to meet. Puccini begins his opera with a similar sort of scene, focused on the male students at the inn flirting with the young ladies.

NOW FOR PUCCINI'S OPENING --

Preview: "We'll live in Paris, together" -- a mystery theme and a mystery duet-fragment

Or, more properly, Andante sostenuto:

by Ken

For tonight's preview, we have a mystery theme, above, and a mystery duet-fragment, below. Before we proceed to it, though, I thought we might hear a somewhat fuller setting of our above theme -- starting a bit earlier in the piece and continuing on a bit longer, though still not quite to the end. We'll hear the whole thing (a whopping four minutes at its most drawn-out), properly identified, in the click-through. I think this is some of the most beautiful and moving music ever written, and its source is a piece that has a somewhat grudging place in the standard repertory but for a number of reasons doesn't get the respect I think it deserves.




NOW LET'S HAVE OUR DUET-FRAGMENT

We'll have these same performances, properly identified, in the click-throughd, so if you're not interested in hearing them blind, as it were, you can skip straight to there.

"Nous vivrons à Paris, tous les deux!"
("We'll live in Paris, together!")

HIM: We'll live in Paris . . .
HER: Together!
HIM: . . . together, and our loving hearts . . .
HER: In Paris!
HIM: . . . bound to one another . . .
HER: In Paris!
HIM: . . . for ever reunited . . .
HER [together]: We'll have only blessed days!
HIM [together]: . . . there we'll live only blessed days!
TOGETHER: In Paris! In Paris, together!
We'll live in Paris! Together!
HIM [approaching HER tenderly; soulfully]: And my name will become yours!
[then coming back to himself; half-spoken] Ah, pardon!
HER: In my eyes you must see well
that I am not angry with you.
And yet, it's wrong!
HIM: Come! We'll live in Paris . . .
HER: Together! &c.

[A]

[B]

[C]

[D]



FOR OUR COMPLETE MYSTERY PIECE, AND
DULY IDENTIFIED VERSIONS OF OUR DUET --

Preview: A decidedly unorthodox musical tribute (if you can call it that) to Italy

by Ken

Tonight's music doesn't plug directly into the musical lovefest with Italy we've been celebrating the last couple of weeks with Tchaikovsky's Capriccio italien and string sextet Souvenir de Florence and Mendelssohn's Italian Symphony. Eventually I think you'll see how it all hooks up, but for tonight you may have to take it on faith.

The Italian Singer conjured here by our emphatically non-Italian lyricist and composer isn't exactly what you'd call a homage, but is at least meant to be, well, sort of Italian. The aria our team created for their tenor is by no means easy to sing. Without getting fancy about it, I've simply plucked out three very famous tenors who happen to have recorded it (plus another from a famous recording), and none of them has an easy time with it. Indeed I've alway suspected that one of them still wishes he could have had another crack at it, or perhaps he doesn't think it would have helped.

Given the degree of difficulty, it's always an intriguing question as to how well our composer expected it to be sung. At least when well sung, though, it's such a ravishing piece that with almost any other composer it would seem all but inconceivable that it didn't aim deliberately at being one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written. With this particular composer, however, there are a number of instances of startling beauty that doesn't seem to fit the general understanding of the situations for which it was written. My feeling is that the deficiency lies in the general understanding of the situations and not the composer's calibration of musical appropriateness, but as I say, it's a legitimate question.

Right now we're going to hear just the aria itself, and for these cuts I've left myself at the mercy of the CD track editors, and have therefore arranged the performances in the order of how much of the orchestral lead-in is included in the aria track -- [A] includes hardly any, [C] and [D] the whole thing. Of course all the music is included in all the recordings; I'm speaking only of where the track point occurs.

In the click-through, where we're going to hear the whole little scene for which this aria was created, I've made sure that we hear the fulll orchestral lead-in all three times.

[A]


[B]


[C]


[D]



HERE'S A QUESTION AS YOU LISTEN

Since this is supposed to be an Italian tenor, can you tell which if any of our four tenors is/are in fact Italian?