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Ed Waffle

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Everything posted by Ed Waffle

  1. Nanatchka wrote: "I find myself worried about the cat." So did I. Pet murder to express displeasure is going way to far. Vegetables, however.... Maria Callas, cancelled a performance of Norma after the first act--she had bronchitis, tried to go on anyway and wasn't able to continue. It was with the Rome Opera and the President of the Italian Republic was in attendance. Callas was attacked in the press (the headlines are amazing), it was discussed in Parliment and she was quite unpopular at Italian houses for several months. After one performance in Milan soon after the Rome incident, someone threw a bunch of radishes onto the stage, instead of the usual flowers. There are as many different accounts of what happened next as their are people who have told the story, but just about everyone agrees on one thing. Callas picked up the offending vegetables and said "You can't get radishes at the opera house."
  2. Verdi’s tragic Moor landed on the banks of the Detroit River on Saturday, opening the Michigan Opera Theatre’s spring season. Almost all the elements for a great performance were present and almost all of them came together. Most people are familiar with Shakespeare’s account of the brave but jealous admiral, his devoted and doomed wife and his consummately evil ensign. Verdi and Boito (the librettist) have cut three quarters of the play and streamlined it into a lyric drama of almost unbearable intensity. They jettison the opening Venice scenes of the play, for example, which set much of the tone for the scenes of racial and class conflict to come. Verdi’s Otello is superhuman—a superb sailor, a great fighting admiral and an efficient and fair military governor. He rules a port city that is an outpost of a great civilization at war with an implacable foe. He is also the tender and devoted lover of his wife. Anything too good to be true is just that, of course, and Otello demands an Iago. Verdi makes great demands on the artists who portray the three main characters. He chose three of the greatest European singing actors of the latter part of the nineteenth century as Otello, Iago and Desdemona and coached them himself. Their music is complex, beautiful, expressive and very demanding. The title role defines the Italian heroic tenor repertory—if one can sing Otello, one is a heroic tenor, if one cannot, he is not. Iago demands not only thorough vocal mastery of all the “Verdi baritone” roles but also requires finely tuned acting skills and great stamina. Desdemona’s voice must ride over or cut through the grand concertanto finale of Act III, but also caress the tones of the Willow Song and Ave Maria in Act IV. Vladimir Galouzine is Otello in the A cast at the Michigan Opera Theatre production currently playing. He is a forceful, convincing actor. His vocal technique is excellent, producing a solid column of tone, firm and brilliant not only in the high passages but in the all important middle voice as well. All he lacks is the trumpet-like squillo sound that characterizes the top notes of the finest heroic tenors. Isabella Sacco plays his wife with the intensely dramatic lyricism, technical agility and musicality that Desdemona demands. Unfortunately her voice is a size too small and gets a bit lost in the concerted pieces. Her pianissimos are ravishing and float effortlessly; her top is secure and her registers blend seamlessly. Sacco is a terrific actress and she gives the words the dramatic thrust they need. Mark Delevan was Iago -- full of snarling rapacity and rich, menacing middle and low notes. He had some off and on passaggio problems, slipping into an almost falsetto like head voice occasionally but generally had his magnificent voice in control. In addition to the viciousness, he did well in the first act drinking song, with its rhythmic changes, and also his lying account of Cassio’s dream which is full of tonal delicacy. Delevan is a favorite at the New York City Opera and it is easy to see why. A few notes on costumes—Both Desdemona and Otello had costume changes for each of the four acts—Desdemona had two in Act III. Galouzine looked a bit like a tenor Boris Gudonov in his black robe with black fir trim when presented to the Venetian ambassador but was always effectively wigged and dressed. Sacco showed just the right decolletage in all of her costumes—perhaps a bit too much after her death scene in Act IV—and her costumes complemented her voluptuous figure. Delevan had the same black leather outfit for the entire opera—even at the end of Act IV, when everyone else was awakened from slumber (or killed) and wore some type of nightdress. Either the artistic team thought he looked too good in leather to want to switch or they were making a statement on the extent of his evil, that he was always awake, always plotting and always ready for trouble.
  3. Just to make it clear (which I didn't in the original post), Maillot took his bow after his dancers bowed--they were still on stage but had already been applauded and had a few curtain calls. I had been clapping and yelling "Bravo" and "Brava", especially for Bernice Coppieters who is one of the most elegant, expressive and beautiful dancers working today. I even made a point of identifying Maillot from his picture in the program before I began booing him. I think a pie in the face would have been more appropriate, since his "Cinderella" was farcically bad.
  4. Just to make it clear (which I didn't in the original post), Maillot took his bow after his dancers bowed--they were still on stage but had already been applauded and had a few curtain calls. I had been clapping and yelling "Bravo" and "Brava", especially for Bernice Coppieters who is one of the most elegant, expressive and beautiful dancers working today. I even made a point of identifying Maillot from his picture in the program before I began booing him. I think a pie in the face would have been more appropriate, since his "Cinderella" was farcically bad.
  5. In a thread on a different subject Nanatchka asked: "How about a thread on booing and hissing????" First things first—for purposes of this post, the term “booing” will mean the opposite of “applauding”—an audible expression of displeasure concerning what one has just seen or heard, or, in some really malicious cases, what one is about to hear. Booing is more prevalent in opera than ballet audiences and more prevalent in Western Europe than in North America or at least Canada and the United States—not sure about Mexico. Italians seem to boo more readily than do the citizens of other European nations and those in Parma are the most audible and insistent regarding their unhappiness with the state of the lyric stage. Wherever they happen the worst cases are booing someone because she is not someone else. Opera lore is full of instances of catcalls aimed at a singer because she was singing a role in an auditorium that another singer had made her own. I never boo performers and consider it reprehensible when it is done. One always assumes that the singer or dancer is doing the very best she can and may be having a bad night—or in some cases, a bad decade. Very occasionally I have wanted to shout a rude expression at someone who has obviously phoned in a performance and is trying to milk the curtain calls. If one simply doesn’t like an artist, though, either don’t go to the theater when he is on stage or don’t applaud. An example is a tenor who often appears here in Motown. I have heard him in heroic tenor roles in the German, Italian and French rep and can say that he is my least favorite singer. I don’t think he does anything well—or even adequately. Lots of people do like him, though, including many critics, conductors and other singers. This is the case where simply not applauding when he comes out for a curtain call is appropriate. I did feel that Jean-Christophe Maillot who choreographed “Cinderella” to the Prokofiev score for his Ballet de Monte-Carlo did a horrible job of it and booed his appearance with the company. Choreographers in ballet and directors in opera have much more control of how a work is presented than do the performers they direct. The audience should feel free let them know when a work is executed as planned and is still garbage.
  6. In a thread on a different subject Nanatchka asked: "How about a thread on booing and hissing????" First things first—for purposes of this post, the term “booing” will mean the opposite of “applauding”—an audible expression of displeasure concerning what one has just seen or heard, or, in some really malicious cases, what one is about to hear. Booing is more prevalent in opera than ballet audiences and more prevalent in Western Europe than in North America or at least Canada and the United States—not sure about Mexico. Italians seem to boo more readily than do the citizens of other European nations and those in Parma are the most audible and insistent regarding their unhappiness with the state of the lyric stage. Wherever they happen the worst cases are booing someone because she is not someone else. Opera lore is full of instances of catcalls aimed at a singer because she was singing a role in an auditorium that another singer had made her own. I never boo performers and consider it reprehensible when it is done. One always assumes that the singer or dancer is doing the very best she can and may be having a bad night—or in some cases, a bad decade. Very occasionally I have wanted to shout a rude expression at someone who has obviously phoned in a performance and is trying to milk the curtain calls. If one simply doesn’t like an artist, though, either don’t go to the theater when he is on stage or don’t applaud. An example is a tenor who often appears here in Motown. I have heard him in heroic tenor roles in the German, Italian and French rep and can say that he is my least favorite singer. I don’t think he does anything well—or even adequately. Lots of people do like him, though, including many critics, conductors and other singers. This is the case where simply not applauding when he comes out for a curtain call is appropriate. I did feel that Jean-Christophe Maillot who choreographed “Cinderella” to the Prokofiev score for his Ballet de Monte-Carlo did a horrible job of it and booed his appearance with the company. Choreographers in ballet and directors in opera have much more control of how a work is presented than do the performers they direct. The audience should feel free let them know when a work is executed as planned and is still garbage.
  7. Among the small annoyances of attending the ballet or opera (especially opera) are the dolts who seem to insist on being the very first person to shout "Bravo", even if it is at an appropriate time. And when inappropriate.... Once at a performance of "Carmen" at the Michigan Opera Theatre, the announcement that Singer A would not be performing but would be replaced by singer B was greeted with a single, very loud "Bravo". As it happens, singer B is a local favorite who is getting a name for herself in the extremely crowded ranks of mezzos, but the person was essentially applauding the illness of singer A. He should have been stabbed by Don Jose.
  8. Among the small annoyances of attending the ballet or opera (especially opera) are the dolts who seem to insist on being the very first person to shout "Bravo", even if it is at an appropriate time. And when inappropriate.... Once at a performance of "Carmen" at the Michigan Opera Theatre, the announcement that Singer A would not be performing but would be replaced by singer B was greeted with a single, very loud "Bravo". As it happens, singer B is a local favorite who is getting a name for herself in the extremely crowded ranks of mezzos, but the person was essentially applauding the illness of singer A. He should have been stabbed by Don Jose.
  9. Farrell Fan raises an interesting point regarding applause at the concert hall. I thought I had read (years ago) that holding applause between movements of a symphony or concerto and only applauding at the end of a piece was relatively recent behavior and that it was largely due to the needs of engineers who were recording the concert. I am trying to find a reference for this. The ways that audiences react to what is on stage continues to change. It was Richard Wagner who insisted that the lights in the auditorium be turned down--and this was due partially, at least, to advances in stage lighting that were much more effective when seen from relative darkness. It now seems "natural" to do so, but 150 years ago it was natural to not to keep the lights up.
  10. Many current productions of three act story ballets are done to almost insist on applause. After a set piece--a variation, pas de deux or trio the dancers will come downstage for a bow—it would be impolite not to applaud under those circumstances. Applauding the fouettes in Swan Lake—it is hard not to do so, even if they aren’t very good, or even if there are less than 32 of them. The second time I saw “Swan Lake” (the day after the first time) I didn’t know the difference between a fouette and a frying pan. I did know that Odette would do them and approximately when, though, having read about the work. So as a novice watcher of ballet (which is still the proper category for me) I was prepared to applaud when they happened. Another reason for inappropriate applause is the audience congratulating themselves for recognizing something that they hear or see. It is omnipresent in opera. Calif could hum “Nessum dorma” on a kazoo, Lauretta could accompany herself with musical spoons while singing “O mio babbino cara” in “Gianni Schicchi” or Violetta could yodel “Sempre libra”. In each case there would be rapturous applause from those who recognized the tunes from commercials, cartoons or Three Tenor tapes.
  11. One more reason for subscribing, although this one can be a double-edged sword: You generally know who will be seated around you. It makes it much easier to strike up conversations while waiting for the curtain go up, especially important if you are, like we are, chronically early for everything. Our Sunday matinee seats for the Michigan Opera Theater are surrounded by ladies in their 70s and 80s--generally lovely people who have been going to the opera and ballet for 50 years or so and who are a joy to talk with. If one is seated in front of a talker or a rustler, of course, it could be a problem. But, as BW pointed out, one of the reasons to subscribe is that you can switch your seats.
  12. The servers are really spinning at the opera lists regarding the Luhrmann production of "La Boheme". He did a production which was updated to the 1950s at the Sydney Opera House in 1990 with a cast of young singers not chosen by him. Reviews for the productions were generally very good but less enthusiastic about the singers. If it is like the limited San Francisco Opera run, it will be triple cast so they can do seven or eight shows per week. There are lots of rumors that the entire show will be amplified in current Broadway style.
  13. In the thread “New Levels of Fitness” Katharine Kanter mentioned the pianist Claudio Arrau. This caused me to revisit a book that was originally encountered years ago, “Conversations with Arrau” by Joseph Horowitz. It is a series of questions and answers done in 1980 when Arrau was 77 years old and still playing about 50 concerts per year—down from 130 in the mid-fifties. It is a fascinating book—before long the reader will have a real liking for both Arrau and Horowitz. A few examples: In his early 20s, Arrau prepared the Schumann piano concerto with Wilhelm Furtwagler, Otto Klemperer and Erich Klieber. Both Furwangler and Klieber showed him things in the concerto he had never seen before, while he describes the encounter with Klemperer as “appalling”, “nasty”, and “one of my worst experiences”. His diligence in preparation for performing was legendary. On the day of a concert and the day before he plays through his entire program, even if he has been playing it regularly on the concert stage. In 1981, for example, Arrau played the Fourth and Fifth Beethoven concertos with Gerard Schwarz and the 92nd Street YHMA Chamber Symphony. The concerts fell on a Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. He played through both concertos Friday afternoon, Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning—a total of twelve concerto performances in about 68 hours. He did the same whether he was concretizing in New York City or on the road. This is in contrast to a much younger pianist who has what he calls “time-zone” recitals, programs he can play almost in his sleep after flying in to a for a concert. “Conversations with Arrau” is as close to a perfect book about music and performing as I have read and I recommend it without reservation.
  14. Like Alexandra, I got hooked on ballet by attending one. It is a story that has been told here. To recount briefly: "Swan Lake", American Ballet Theatre, Makarova and Nagy, the Auditorium Theater in Chicago. A big night on the town to impress the woman who became and still is my wife. Mid-orchestra seats--first time ever in that expensive territory. Have seen "Swan Lake" about 40 times since then, many of them wonderful, but there are moments from that production that I may recall on my deathbed.
  15. I saw the movie “Moulin Rouge” six times last summer. Here are few reasons why I loved it: Nicole Kidman -- Jim Broadbent -- There are over fifty named cast members credited as “dancer” . -- It is the only movie that features the vocal stylings of both Placido Domingo (the man in the moon) and Kylie Minogue (the Green Fairy). By the way, that is not Placebo on the soundtrack album the rules being different, apparently, for CD reproduction. -- Nicole Kidman’s voice; Ewan MacGregor’s voice; they show that there is a lot more to being a successful singer than a beautiful tone. Kidman’s voice has a bottled up tone, no real chest and a very thin top. She “manages” her low notes as opposed to really singing them. Her mid-voice has a three or four note range that is pleasant. Partially due to the lack of chest voice there is no register break, so it is evenly produced throughout its range. Her attacks are sharp and seem to be on key. Her diction is superb and she sings on the beat. Her training as an actor probably helps with all this. Occasionally her sound opens up (aided, possibly, by digital magic in post-production) and her emotional commitment to communicating through music is riveting. MacGregor has a better instrument with a decent range and a not unpleasant reedy tone. His voice blooms in the upper mid-range and his breath support is quite good. He sounds capable to sustaining tone over a long line if necessary (it really isn’t in this score). Possibly due to his character his singing lacks the core of compassionate truth that one might wish for, although there were stretches in which he was ardent and impassioned. Both sing with a “white” tone—very little vibrato, much more Baroque (in its present original instrument manner) than Romantic. It makes it much more difficult to sing the correct harmonies in duets, which may mean that some of the blending of their voices was done in post-production. -- The scenes with audience made up of night owls in their top hats, tails, leering expressions and very sad, isolated cores. -- Jim Broadbent as Madonna; Nicole Kidman as Madonna and as Madonna as Marilyn Monroe. -- The scene at the end of the misdirected seduction in the Elephant, in which Broadbent, Kidman, MacGregor, John Leguizamo, (Toulouse) Jacek Korman (The Argentinian) and Mathew Whittet (Satie) “put on a show” for the Duke. It is as funny, manic, fast paced and effective as any Rossini end of the first act confusion of characters. -- The idea that for musicians, singers, dancers and other artists (here including acrobats, tumblers, jugglers and magicians) getting on stage and performing is the most important thing for them—as important as breathing. There are a lot of other things to love about this movie, and most likely, much that people do not like about it. It was a surprise hit in the U. S., grossing more than $60 million. The distributors would have been happy with half of that, since it was expected to play very well in non-U.S. markets. My comments are based on seeing it in the theater. The VCR release is unfortunately panned and scanned. Much of what Baz Lurhmann accomplished was in the depth of field and the extreme foreground of the shots. This is lost on the panned and scanned version.
  16. Zeffirelli seems to have run out of good ideas, so he uses the ones that have worked in the past and just makes things bigger and busier. He is a disciple of Luchino Visconti, a genius of the lyric stage who, along with Maria Callas and Carlo Maria Guilini, set the standard for operatic excellence at La Scala during the middle of the last century. Zeff hasn't been so lucky in finding collaborators to help him fulfill his ideas, so we get bloated productions like the "Carmen" of a few years ago (still in the Met rep). There are scenes with so many supers, actors, peasants, cigarette workers, horses, dogs, etc. that it is difficult to locate the singers. In 1985 his production of "Traviata" was ravishing. His much more recent "Traviata" for the Met, also still in the rep, has little merit. His productions are popular and expensive, but any production of "Carmen", "Traviata", "Boheme" or other top ten operas will sell lots of tickets at the Met. Their expense insures they will be used for years to come. He did "Otello" (Verdi) in 1986, available on video tape. Well worth seeing, even if you are tired of Placebo as the tenor de jour. He could use a change--Las Vegas would be perfect for him at this stage of his career.
  17. Ross Stretton may be trying to address fitness for a few reasons. If one takes his statement at face value (and assumes the Independent reported it correctly) he is saying that dancers at the Royal are not fit—do not have a high enough level of aerobic capacity, strength, suppleness and anything else that might define fitness. Another way to look at it, though, is that the level of fitness in the company is something he can affect quickly. It is also something which is measurable—oxygen uptake, amount of distance one can run or walk in certain time, how much weight one can lift and how many times she can lift it. It is a much easier task to take on than, for example, saying he wants a new level of artistry in the company. Fitness is a neutral concept—if you are not fit, here is a program to follow that will help. If you are not a musical dancer, whatever that may be, it would be a much more difficult issue to address. This is one of the many ways in which ballet departs from sports, even though both are involve the body and physicality. Fitness and technique are the basis for success in most sports—artistry is not. Boxers, the athletes I am most familiar with, are generally very fit and work constantly on refining their technique. The fitness exception is among some heavyweights and those men in lighter weight classes who have to crash diet to make weight for a fight. But fitness and technique will only take a boxer so far—and in a career that involves being hit in the face, “so far” is not enough. Greater hand speed, hand-eye coordination, the ability to be hit and not knocked out—all are things which can’t be coached into a nervous system that lack them. A trainer can insist that a fighter be more fit and that he work on technique to compensate for his shortcomings—that he make the best of the talent for the sport that he has. Perhaps Stretton is simply beginning with something he knows he can be successful with, even though it may not be the most important challenge facing him and the Royal.
  18. Ross Stretton may be trying to address fitness for a few reasons. If one takes his statement at face value (and assumes the Independent reported it correctly) he is saying that dancers at the Royal are not fit—do not have a high enough level of aerobic capacity, strength, suppleness and anything else that might define fitness. Another way to look at it, though, is that the level of fitness in the company is something he can affect quickly. It is also something which is measurable—oxygen uptake, amount of distance one can run or walk in certain time, how much weight one can lift and how many times she can lift it. It is a much easier task to take on than, for example, saying he wants a new level of artistry in the company. Fitness is a neutral concept—if you are not fit, here is a program to follow that will help. If you are not a musical dancer, whatever that may be, it would be a much more difficult issue to address. This is one of the many ways in which ballet departs from sports, even though both are involve the body and physicality. Fitness and technique are the basis for success in most sports—artistry is not. Boxers, the athletes I am most familiar with, are generally very fit and work constantly on refining their technique. The fitness exception is among some heavyweights and those men in lighter weight classes who have to crash diet to make weight for a fight. But fitness and technique will only take a boxer so far—and in a career that involves being hit in the face, “so far” is not enough. Greater hand speed, hand-eye coordination, the ability to be hit and not knocked out—all are things which can’t be coached into a nervous system that lack them. A trainer can insist that a fighter be more fit and that he work on technique to compensate for his shortcomings—that he make the best of the talent for the sport that he has. Perhaps Stretton is simply beginning with something he knows he can be successful with, even though it may not be the most important challenge facing him and the Royal.
  19. BW wrote: quote: I think that I probably would like to read more about it...kind of takes me back to my Art history class days. It takes me back to my litcrit days. Much critical jargon originates with literary theorists and is adapted by and for other disciplines as necessary. Formalism is more useful as a critical method than as a creative one—it can be a valuable tool in analyzing a work, less in making one. Formalism was the application of linguistics to the study of literature. It looked at literary language as different from ordinary language. In their terms, it was language “deformed” or “estranged” in various ways from the discourse of daily life. Formalists viewed literature as language that deviated from the norm—a special kind of language as opposed to the ordinary language we use every day. If I say to a coworker, “You look great today—have you had your hair done?” it is a different question than “Is this the face that launched ten thousand ships?”. The difference is in the weight and force of the language. The second question draws attention to itself and flourishes its difference. Ballet, with its very formal and structured movements could be seen in opposition to ordinary movement as literature is to ordinary language. Poetry, according to formalist critics, is a series of devices which are used as interrelated functions within a system. In much the same way ballet can be seen as constructed from individual movements or poses which are assembled into a work for the stage. I realize that this has become so reductive as to be absurd, so I will retreat from this particular limb before sawing it off. It expresses a viewpoint of a rather mechanistic critic and not of a creative artist. Another oddity about literary formalism is that its practitioners were almost all Russians. They were active from just before the Russian Revolution until the late 1920s and have had a profound and lasting affect on the study of literature. They were important enough in Russia to be denounced by Trotsky. Russian formalists attempted to make the study of literature into a science and considered historical, biographical and aesthetic aspects of a work to be unimportant. Obviously they would not do well in the arid Social Realism of the Stalinist era. A very good book for those interested is Literary Theory: An Introduction by Terry Eagleton. It is on the short list of books that I make a point of re-reading every five years or so.
  20. Giuseppi Verdi was a brilliant and creative musician and a man of the theater with an almost infallible sense of what worked dramatically. So when Verdi insisted that the ballet he composed for his penultimate opera “Otello” not be included in the printed score of the opera because “artistically speaking, it is a monstrosity” since it derailed the action, it makes sense. The ballet music for “Otello” is the last work that Verdi wrote for the stage. It was composed in 1894 when he was 81 years old—he was revising the opera for production at Paris. Since the conventions of the Paris Opera included a third act ballet, he wrote one. Listening to the opera and following the libretto, there really is no place for a ballet in Act III. It is the act in which Desdemona’s fate is sealed, Otello is turned against Cassio and Iago triumphs. Stopping everything for a ballet made up of the national dances of the residents of Cyprus—Arab, Venetian, Greek, Turkish—would make it necessary to reestablish the momentum of the tragedy. At the same time, Verdi did not stint in the composition of the ballet. He was a great respecter of conventions of the theater when they worked and knew what the Parisians expected. His librettist, Arigo Boito and his publisher, Giulio Ricordi, tried to help. Ricordi sent him a volume of Greek songs, which he found useless. He also sent songs by Bizet and other composers considered experts in music from the exotic East. Verdi continued to look for examples and wrote Ricordi “Something Turkish! Something Cypro-Greek! Something Venetian!...Help me find something.” He had wondered in a letter if it would be better not to have a ballet at all (impossible) or to have a different composer write it (inconceivable). Apparently while tossing the red herrings in the direction of his long-suffering publisher, he was hard at work. That Verdi took pride in the music itself, if not in the its position in the drama, is shown by his letter to Ricordi after he had (to everyone’s surprise) finished it. “This very day I am sending, special delivery, the package with the ballet for the Paris “Otello”. Your doctors of music could find nothing for me.... but I found a Greek song of 5000 B.C.! If the world didn’t exist then, it is the world’s tough luck! Then I found a Muranese, composed 2000 years ago for a war between Venice and Murano, which the Muranese won. No matter if Venice didn’t yet exist, with this find I composed my fine ballet, imagining how it must be performed and I have drafted the outline which you will find attached to the score.” The ballet is made of seven different sections: Untitled; Arabian Song; Invocation of Allah; Greek Song; Dance; The People of Murano; The Warrior's Song. Verdi wrote a detailed scenario for each section and expected the choreographer in Paris to follow it closely. It was to run exactly five minutes and fifty-nine seconds. Part of it is based on and quotes from a symphonic work by Felecian David—I not only haven’t heard the symphony, I haven’t heard of its composer. Other ballet music from Verdi’s operas for Paris has had a longer shelf life. “The Four Seasons”, from “Les Vespres Sicilliennes” choreographed by Jerome Robins, is in the repertory of the NYCB. The Ballabile from “Macbeth” is a striking piece of music that can be programmed on its own. Also, since it involves the three witches, it can be used in the opera without hurting it dramatically, although it generally is not.
  21. Here are a few definitions which can be modified for singers, dancers, instrumentalists or conductors. In each instance the most important part is the pronoun. Additions to the lexicon are most welcome. I use rubato; you have an unclear beat; he can’t count to four. I am deeply sensitive; you are sentimental; he is pathetic. I have a trill; you have vibrato; she has a wobble. My (singing, dancing, playing, conducting) is exciting and dramatic; yours is tense and histrionic; his is irrational and maniacal. I am a virtuoso coloratura; you don’t have a chest voice; she is a canary. I make it look easy; you are insouciant; she is careless. I use a relaxed tempo which lets the music breathe; you have trouble keeping some passages together; he can’t read music. I am lyrical; you are indulgent; she is sloppy. I am taking time off to spend with my family; You are having a vocal crisis; Her career is over. [ March 10, 2002, 06:53 PM: Message edited by: Ed Waffle ]
  22. Brendan, I have read (where I can't recall) that "toi, toi, toi" was accompanied by spitting over one's shoulder. Seems unsanitary, but if it works.....
  23. What one hears backstage before opera performances is "In bocca al lupo" (Into the mouth of the wolf) to which the proper response is "crepi lupo", which has come to mean in this context "may the wolf drop dead". There are a number of explanations for this term. One is that the auditorium of Italian opera houses, viewed from the stage, looks like a giant mouth--and perhaps a wolfish one. It also wonderfully describes the moment of truth performers face when the curtain rises. Tito Gobbi, an Italian baritone of some note, said it came from rural Italy many years ago. When men would leave a tavern late at night it was customary for their friends to caution each other to 'beware of the mouth of the wolf' on their journey home, to which they boldly replied: 'crepi lupo' or simply "crepi'." Another explanation was that it began in Parma, Italy, where anyone appearing onstage was like being in the mouth of the wolf. The audiences in Parma are known for being extremely knowledgeable, unforgiving of any mistake and very loud. It is used in opera houses all over the world and by singers (and their friends) of all nationalities.
  24. This is a wonderful review and can serve as an example of how to write an account of a performance without using the technical vocabulary that some of us lack. I wouldn’t know a battement if I were beaten with it. My head is in a whirl just thinking about pirouttes, and I am whipped by the idea of fouttes. Besides all that, I have a bad attitude. The more one knows the more one can enjoy what one sees and hears in the theater. However, reports like Sonora’s show that it is possible to give a real sense of being there without the use of technical terms, which is quite a gift. It has effective descriptions of the music (most effective here, since just about everyone knows it and has it on his CD shelf), the lighting, and the dancers and how they moved to the choreography. Most importantly, at least for me, is how it affected the audience, which is beautifully depicted.
  25. The Paris Opera commissioned ballet scores from every opera composer who wanted to write for its stage--which is all of them, since Paris was the center of the operatic universe at that time. Grand Opera, as produced at the Opera, had a ballet. Wagner wrote the dance music for Tannhauser specifically for Paris. Hundreds of pages of "French" ballet music flowed from the pen of Verdi, some routine "oompah band" accompaniment, others as good as anything he wrote--"Otello", "Il trovatore", "Jerusalem", a revsion of "I Lombardi". The ballet music from "Aida" (not for the Paris Opera) has a life of its own. Little of this music is well known in the United States or Italy, since the recordings and productions of these scores are generally of the seemingly more "official" Italian version, which do not include the ballet. Berloiz added ballet music to "Der Frieschutz" by von Weber when it was revised as a grand opera for Paris. Giacomo Meyerbeer, no longer everyone's idea of a great 19th century composer, wrote grand opera that was the toast of Paris. The skaters ballet in Le Prophete" the gypsy dance in "Le Huguenotes" and the nuns ballet in "Robert le diable" influenced composers for decades to come. The Opera Comique also in Paris but a much different institution, had its own conventions regarding dance for the lyric stage. "Carmen" is the most famous work from that genre from the 19th century and is full of dance music, although choral writing was more typical than ballet for crowd scenes. [ March 05, 2002, 05:20 PM: Message edited by: Ed Waffle ]
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