Duke Bluebeard's Castle
Music by Bela Bartok, libretto by Bela Balazs
The story of Bluebeard and his wives is a reasonably well-known (?) fairy story written by Charles Perrault (best known for Cinderella). Bluebeard brings a new young bride to his castle, wherein she snoops behind locked doors and discovers that her new husband has horribly murdered his former wives. In the story she manages to escape and live happily ever after. Perrault apparently likes to get a little scary and gory before he serves up the happy ending.
In the operatic version, the bride, Judith, arrives at her home to find seven locked doors. The opera centers around her demands for the doors to be unlocked (based upon her love for Bluebeard and her desire to bring light to his dark home), Bluebeard's protests and eventual relentings, and what she discovers behind those doors. In succession: a torture chamber, an armory, a treasury, and a vast realm, all stained with blood. Behind door number six is a lake of tears. Judith doggedly moves ahead with each door, despite her horror at all the blood, and when she reaches the sixth door, she declares that she's solved the mystery: Bluebeard has murdered his former wives, and it is their blood that stains his castle, their tears that make up the lake behind door six, and their bodies that lie behind door seven. The final door is opened to reveal one part of her theory correct: the wives are there, alive, and shadows of their former selves. Judith takes her place among them, and the opera ends with the castle (and Bluebeard) once again thrown into darkness.
Clearly, this is a much more psychological and ultimately darker interpretation than Perrault's original story. The journey Judith takes is apparently one through her new husband's soul, and in the end, she is assimilated into his life, losing her "self" and merely becoming a part of his whole. I suppose the moral of the story would be that perhaps one doesn't really want to know everything about one's partner's past and psyche. There is, of course, also the notion of a wife's duty to defer to her husband in all things, becoming a part of him rather than an individual.
What is tremendous about Bartok's opera is the music. It rises and falls with creepy/scary tension and tender moments. The accompaniment for each of the rooms truly paints the picture, making this opera a little easier to envision on stage, even while merely listening to a recording. I'd have to say I enjoyed this one, perhaps more than the others ... the story, though, is clearly a hard one to really follow or interpret. I suppose I prefer simple plots and execution, rather than something requiring serious psychoanalysis.
Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label opera. Show all posts
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Friday, December 18, 2009
Opera #2: Vanessa
Vanessa
Music by Samuel Barber, libretto by Gian Carlo Menotti.
Barber is certainly a more recognizable name than Argento, and I would hope that Menotti's name rings a bell as well. Samuel Barber is arguably one of the premier American composers and mainly worked in orchestral music and art song. Vanessa was his first (and more or less only) opera. I'd at least heard of this one in college, since "Must the winter come so soon" was a pretty standard piece for aspiring mezzos. What is really interesting about this is the fact the Menotti wrote the libretto. If you have not heard of him, Gian Carlo Menotti was a pretty major American composer of opera himself, and wrote some of my absolute favorites, namely The Medium and Amahl and the Night Visitors (seasonal!). He was also Barber's "lifelong companion," as they say. Barber was a big fan of opera but just never found a libretto he was happy with, so finally Menotti decided to write one for him himself. It premiered at the Met in 1958.
Vanessa is a former great beauty, now in her forties, who has lived the life of a recluse for the past 20 years, apparently because of a love affair gone wrong. She has no visitors, wears a veil, and covers all mirrors and portraits in her house. She lives with her niece, Erika (about 20), and her mother, "The Baroness," who refuses to speak to her. When the opera begins, Erika is arranging the household for an important guest, who Vanessa is awaiting anxiously. Apparently, the guest is her former lover, but instead of himself arriving, it is his son, also named Anatole, who appears. His father has died, and he is curious about the woman who haunted his father.
Almost immediately upon arriving, Anatole seduces Erika, but then declares his affection for Vanessa herself. Erika, nursing a fairy tale idea of romance, disagrees with Anatole's more worldly approach, and so turns down his proposal of marriage, despite her feelings for him. She decides that since Vanessa has been waiting for so long, living in solitude and ostensibly "saving herself," that it is only fair she be the one to win Anatole's hand. In good order, Anatole and Vanessa announce their engagement, subsequent with our discovery that Erika is now carrying Anatole's child. She rushes out into a bitter winter night, apparently to end her life. She is found, hours later, passed out in the snow. Upon recovering, she admits to her grandmother, The Baroness, that she was with child, but is no longer. Her grandmother leaves the room without a word, and it is clear that she will never speak to Erika again, either.
A month passes (we are told). Anatole and Vanessa are married and preparing to move to Paris. Vanessa is haunted by what that night, and constantly asks both Anatole and Erika if there was something between them. They, of course, deny this. Vanessa tells Erika that the house is hers, and after the newlyweds leave, Erika covers all the mirrors and portraits, locks the gate, and dons a veil, declaring that now it is her turn to wait.
Clearly, a properly "operatic" plot. Since Barber is, like Argento, a "contemporary" composer, we again have a work that is not really given to memorable melodies, or even arias in the traditional sense. The mostly conversational nature of the work leads me to believe that it's probably much more interesting/enjoyable to actually watch a production, rather than simply listen to a recording. The music is the real star here. It moves from solemn to playful to melodramatic in a matter of seconds, and definitely gives a mood of anxiety and impending doom. I really liked the concepts at play here - the supposition that Vanessa's doomed love affair played itself out in perhaps the same way that Erika's does, and that therefore there is hope that Erika herself will be rescued someday by the shadow of her former lover. They're almost like Miss Havisham, with all her clocks stopped, still in her wedding dress. The Baroness hovers over them, disapproving, like a guilty conscience, and they wait with growing anxiety for the day when they will be rescued and can revisit a perhaps lost youth. Kind of what we all want, isn't it?
Music by Samuel Barber, libretto by Gian Carlo Menotti.
Barber is certainly a more recognizable name than Argento, and I would hope that Menotti's name rings a bell as well. Samuel Barber is arguably one of the premier American composers and mainly worked in orchestral music and art song. Vanessa was his first (and more or less only) opera. I'd at least heard of this one in college, since "Must the winter come so soon" was a pretty standard piece for aspiring mezzos. What is really interesting about this is the fact the Menotti wrote the libretto. If you have not heard of him, Gian Carlo Menotti was a pretty major American composer of opera himself, and wrote some of my absolute favorites, namely The Medium and Amahl and the Night Visitors (seasonal!). He was also Barber's "lifelong companion," as they say. Barber was a big fan of opera but just never found a libretto he was happy with, so finally Menotti decided to write one for him himself. It premiered at the Met in 1958.
Vanessa is a former great beauty, now in her forties, who has lived the life of a recluse for the past 20 years, apparently because of a love affair gone wrong. She has no visitors, wears a veil, and covers all mirrors and portraits in her house. She lives with her niece, Erika (about 20), and her mother, "The Baroness," who refuses to speak to her. When the opera begins, Erika is arranging the household for an important guest, who Vanessa is awaiting anxiously. Apparently, the guest is her former lover, but instead of himself arriving, it is his son, also named Anatole, who appears. His father has died, and he is curious about the woman who haunted his father.
Almost immediately upon arriving, Anatole seduces Erika, but then declares his affection for Vanessa herself. Erika, nursing a fairy tale idea of romance, disagrees with Anatole's more worldly approach, and so turns down his proposal of marriage, despite her feelings for him. She decides that since Vanessa has been waiting for so long, living in solitude and ostensibly "saving herself," that it is only fair she be the one to win Anatole's hand. In good order, Anatole and Vanessa announce their engagement, subsequent with our discovery that Erika is now carrying Anatole's child. She rushes out into a bitter winter night, apparently to end her life. She is found, hours later, passed out in the snow. Upon recovering, she admits to her grandmother, The Baroness, that she was with child, but is no longer. Her grandmother leaves the room without a word, and it is clear that she will never speak to Erika again, either.
A month passes (we are told). Anatole and Vanessa are married and preparing to move to Paris. Vanessa is haunted by what that night, and constantly asks both Anatole and Erika if there was something between them. They, of course, deny this. Vanessa tells Erika that the house is hers, and after the newlyweds leave, Erika covers all the mirrors and portraits, locks the gate, and dons a veil, declaring that now it is her turn to wait.
Clearly, a properly "operatic" plot. Since Barber is, like Argento, a "contemporary" composer, we again have a work that is not really given to memorable melodies, or even arias in the traditional sense. The mostly conversational nature of the work leads me to believe that it's probably much more interesting/enjoyable to actually watch a production, rather than simply listen to a recording. The music is the real star here. It moves from solemn to playful to melodramatic in a matter of seconds, and definitely gives a mood of anxiety and impending doom. I really liked the concepts at play here - the supposition that Vanessa's doomed love affair played itself out in perhaps the same way that Erika's does, and that therefore there is hope that Erika herself will be rescued someday by the shadow of her former lover. They're almost like Miss Havisham, with all her clocks stopped, still in her wedding dress. The Baroness hovers over them, disapproving, like a guilty conscience, and they wait with growing anxiety for the day when they will be rescued and can revisit a perhaps lost youth. Kind of what we all want, isn't it?
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Opera #1: Postcard from Morocco
Postcard from Morocco
Music by Dominick Argento, text by John Donohue.
Never heard of this one, have you? It's a one-act, and Argento, surprisingly, is a "contemporary" American composer. The opera premiered in Minneapolis in 1971. It's basically a group of people at a train station, most of whom are identified by something they are carrying: "Hat Lady," "Old-Luggage Man," and so forth. There are also, apparently, entertainments like a puppet show and operetta singers, roles which are doubled by the waiting passengers. Each individual is protective of their privacy and self by way of behaving defensively toward their possessions. In turn, all of the other individuals try to learn about each person, and to see inside each bag, case, or box. Ultimately, one character, "Mr. Owen," (the only one with a name) is forced to reveal that his "painting kit" is, in reality, empty. Once this realization is made, the other characters fade away, leaving "Mr. Owen" to sink into his own fantasy world, and the opera ends.
The text is in English, and the music is, of course, very "contemporary" in style, with not a lot that resembles a traditional aria. Excellent singing, though, and a very expressive style, which is apparently a trademark of Argento's work. I generally prefer things that are much more melodic and lyric, but I think that in this case the style worked to convey the chaos of an being in an unfamiliar, busy place and interacting with strangers.
Ultimately, I thought the opera was very interesting, and the story reminded me of existentialism, of Sartre's "No Exit," and the notion that "Hell is other people". All of the characters display or communicate a fear ... fear of traveling, of other people, of revealing themselves; yet they all want to get others to open up to them. In the end, when they succeed, they are then no longer interested in the individual who has been laid bare. Within the "entertainments" are musical references, most notably to Wagner and his The Flying Dutchman, which focuses on an character supernaturally cursed to sail the seas forever unless saved by a stranger's act of compassion and love. Argento says of Postcard that it "could ... serve as a prologue to Wagner's opera, suggesting a different but equally possible origin of that journey: not launched by supernatural forces at all, but by very human ones, by people who fail to show charity or pity, love or understanding ... Perhaps this unkindness is self protective or thoughtless or not malicious; perhaps it is the result of curiosity, suspicion, selfishness ... Whatever the reason, when it does occur, another Dutchman is born and ... a new voyage begins." (text from CD program notes)
An operatic journey begins...
Music by Dominick Argento, text by John Donohue.
Never heard of this one, have you? It's a one-act, and Argento, surprisingly, is a "contemporary" American composer. The opera premiered in Minneapolis in 1971. It's basically a group of people at a train station, most of whom are identified by something they are carrying: "Hat Lady," "Old-Luggage Man," and so forth. There are also, apparently, entertainments like a puppet show and operetta singers, roles which are doubled by the waiting passengers. Each individual is protective of their privacy and self by way of behaving defensively toward their possessions. In turn, all of the other individuals try to learn about each person, and to see inside each bag, case, or box. Ultimately, one character, "Mr. Owen," (the only one with a name) is forced to reveal that his "painting kit" is, in reality, empty. Once this realization is made, the other characters fade away, leaving "Mr. Owen" to sink into his own fantasy world, and the opera ends.
The text is in English, and the music is, of course, very "contemporary" in style, with not a lot that resembles a traditional aria. Excellent singing, though, and a very expressive style, which is apparently a trademark of Argento's work. I generally prefer things that are much more melodic and lyric, but I think that in this case the style worked to convey the chaos of an being in an unfamiliar, busy place and interacting with strangers.
Ultimately, I thought the opera was very interesting, and the story reminded me of existentialism, of Sartre's "No Exit," and the notion that "Hell is other people". All of the characters display or communicate a fear ... fear of traveling, of other people, of revealing themselves; yet they all want to get others to open up to them. In the end, when they succeed, they are then no longer interested in the individual who has been laid bare. Within the "entertainments" are musical references, most notably to Wagner and his The Flying Dutchman, which focuses on an character supernaturally cursed to sail the seas forever unless saved by a stranger's act of compassion and love. Argento says of Postcard that it "could ... serve as a prologue to Wagner's opera, suggesting a different but equally possible origin of that journey: not launched by supernatural forces at all, but by very human ones, by people who fail to show charity or pity, love or understanding ... Perhaps this unkindness is self protective or thoughtless or not malicious; perhaps it is the result of curiosity, suspicion, selfishness ... Whatever the reason, when it does occur, another Dutchman is born and ... a new voyage begins." (text from CD program notes)
An operatic journey begins...
A project!
So, in a former life, I wanted to be an opera singer. And yet, somehow, I never really paid that much attention to opera. Recently, I was reminded of how much I do actually like great voices, and I was inspired to listen to some opera. But where to begin? Well, I happen to have a book entitled The Metropolitan Opera: Stories of the Great Operas by John W. Freeman, in which are listed 150 operas deemed "important". And so, the idea for a project was born. I would read the synopsis and information about an opera, and then get hold of a recording and listen to it. Whether or not I will successfully post about them is another story entirely, but I'm willing to try. And so, this is the introduction. I just finished listening to the first opera in the book, and I will try to talk a bit about it momentarily. If nothing else, I ought to feel a little more cultured ... and I'm always saying I ought to listen to more "classical" music.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)