Ed Waffle

I have been listening to Tchiakovsky a lot recently. What follows is a discussion of what I have heard. It is limited by what happens to reside in my CD collection, by no means a representative selection of his works. I won’t try to approach the symphonies or, for obvious reasons, the three ballets. Tchiakovsky was a melodist of inexhaustible gifts, which is not to damn with faint praise, although many academic critics consider a “mere melodist” to be automatically guilty of banality. The operas—Tchiakovsky is arguably the preeminent Russian composer for the lyric stage. Of his ten operas, nine survive intact and one in two different versions. I am familiar with three of them: “Eugene Onegin”, “The Queen of Spades” and “Iolanta”. “Onegin” is close to perfect melding of word and music and perhaps the only way to musically dramatize Pushkin’s novel. It should be on just about any shortlist of great lyric operas. While it is not necessary to summarize the action for readers of balletalert, critics of the stature of Vladimir Nabokov have denigrated it for not being slavishly faithful to the source. What he and others who attack the opera fail to see is that the music can expose the conflict between the inner and outer worlds of the characters and also quickly and effectively sketch their backgrounds within a few bars. It opens with a real tour de force of vocal and orchestral counterpoint, the duet between Tatyanna and Olga which becomes a quartet as Larina and Filipevna join them. It has all the beauty, complexity and expressive power of the great concerted pieces in “Fidelio” or any of the Mozart/Da Ponte operas. In about five minutes it sets the scene in the countryside, shows the relationship between the characters and also the classes to which they belong and introduces us to each of their strengths and weaknesses. The letter scene, Tatyanna’s monologue, is breathtaking and heartbreaking—and the text is straight from Pushkin. Lenski’s aria is deservedly one of the staples of the tenor repertory, as Prince Gremin’s is of the bass voice. Four recordings, two of them on super-cheap pirate labels. On Gala, from 1962, sung in German which is not a really a drawback for me. A transparent orchestral touch from the pit, which contains the Bavarian State Opera, led by Joseph Keilberth. Luxury casting, including Brigitte Fassbaender as Olga, with Fritz Wunderlich and Hermann Prey in the main male roles. The chorus is especially noteworthy and precise. They have razor sharp attacks and all of the vocal lines are both distinct and blended. Another unofficially recorded performance is from the Bolshoi, probably from the late 1950s, on Opera D’Oro. I am not familiar with the conductor, Boris Khaikin, but the cast is one for the ages, with Galina Vishnevskaya, the Russian diva of divas, as Tatyanna and including Sergei Lemeshev and Ivan Petrov. Even with Galina under pitch occasionally this is a white-hot performance with some wonderful singers rarely heard in the West. The third is from Covent Garden and led by Georg Solti. It is very much the conductors’ performance and if you are a fan of Solti (which I sometimes am) and don’t mind Tchiakovsky played with more than a touch of Wagnerian and Mahlerian bombast and pathos, you will like it. Available on London, recorded in 1974. Last is a recent one—a DDD release for those who value the sharpest sound reproduction. Once again Olga Borodina is Olga, with Nuccia Focile as Tatyanna and the reigning Slavic bari-hunk, Dmitri Hvorostovsky in the title role. “Iolanta” is lyrical and impressionistic in its use of orchestral colors, while the vocal writing is more craftsmanlike than inspired. The scene and duet between Iolanta and Vaudemont contains some exquisite music and several of the arias became recital-stage standards. The plot is believable only by opera standards and, oddly enough, has a very upbeat ending. This work was composed simultaneously with “The Nutcracker”. They were premiered on the same bill, back in the days when you really got your money’s worth for a concert ticket—an entire opera and an entire ballet in the same evening! There is almost no action as such in the libretto—the heroine is blind—but the music expresses the theme, which is the healing power of unconditional love, beautifully. There is an Erato recording done in 1986 with Vishnevskaya in the title role, conducted by her husband, Rostropovitch. Nicolai Gedda sings Vaudemont, almost enough in itself to recommend this recording. It is an odd amalgam of strengths and weaknesses. Vishnevskaya overpowers the gentle lyricism of the role—her voice is much on the dramatic/spinto side of the equation—and Gedda matches her in power and volume. A very Italianate sounding pairing, while Rostropovitch brings out the more gently nuanced sound given to the orchestra. It is as if Tosca and Cavaradosi wandered into a production of “Pelleas and Melisande. Odd, but it works. There is a recording that completely lacks star power, with unknown soloists and a provincial orchestra that has a more unified approach. It is on CPO and features the Warsaw Philharmonic led by Hans Rotman, with soloist who I have yet to hear of.. While the listener is aware of the limitations of the cast—some of Tchiakovsky’s writing is simply beyond the soloists to sing beautifully—the work is presented as a whole, a “thing in itself” which is at least as valid as the Erato. “The Queen of Spades” seems to be the Tchiakovsky opera best known in the UK, while “Eugene Onegin” holds that place in the USA. Philips has released a video and CD of a Bolshoi performance with Gergiev in the pit, Maria Gulegina as the ill-fated Lisa, Olga Borodina as Pauline and Gegam Gregorian as the tortured Herman. The score highlights the eerie correspondence that the libretto draws between the surface action and the occult that underlies it. Based on a novella from Pushkin, it is a stark portrayal of obsession and how people can be crushed by malign passion. Yelestky’s aria, in which he pledges eternal love for Lisa while at he same time admitting his weaknesses, has become a standard for the baritone repertory. It has a sublime melody and, like so much of Tchiakovsky’s vocal writing, lies perfectly on the voice. The video is really something—there is a hallucinatory quality to the music and libretto that is brought out in the lighting. It must have been extremely powerful in the theater. Ghostly apparitions, characters fading in and out of shadows, a thunderstorm suddenly appearing on a calm spring day—I imagine this is the kind of production that lighting directors love. Piano Concerto no. 1 If you don’t like Tchiakovsky, you will hate this work—it is an archetype of the Romantic piano concerto with its flamboyance. It is a significant test of the soloist’s technique, charisma, powers of concentration and sheer endurance. As “unclassical” as a concerto can be, and unforgettable, especially in the opening with the horn anticipating the theme, followed by the crashing piano chords that lead to the theme centered in the violins. But....oops that is NOT the theme, just a showy introduction that is discarded. Either wonderfully wasteful or wastefully wonderful but it is as much of a signature opening as the first bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Not having a score it is impossible for me to tell, but the very opening of the first movement might be echoed toward the end of the third—just after the impossibly long and complex cadenza for the soloist. Or maybe not. I love this work. There may be as many recordings of this standard as there are notes in the score. If you like your Tchiakovsky wild and woolly with all the stops pulled out, I suggest a Philips recording with Martha Argerich as soloist and Kirill Kindrashin leading the Bavarian Radio Orchestra in 1980. It can be doubly recommended since it includes a performance of Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto with Argerich accompanied by Ricardo Chially and the Berlin Symphony Orchestra. She is a tremendously talented and charismatic artist who was at the height of her powers twenty years ago. There is another recording of her as soloist on this concerto, also on Philips. Claudio Abado and the Berlin Phil accompany her. In keeping with the season it is coupled with the Nutcracker Suite arranged for two pianos. She only plays one of them. Violin Concerto in D Major This one is Romantic (and romantic) even by the standards of the late nineteenth century. There was an uproar against it at its premiere in 1881—this was back in the days music was an important part of people’s lives. Several virtuoso violinists refused to learn it. Leopold Auer decided it impossible to play. Listening to the final movement one can more than sympathize with this viewpoint. The violinist needs technique to burn, a ravishing tone and the ability to change tempos at seemingly capricious points. Again there are lots of recordings—Victoria Mullova, an artist of great gifts is accompanied by Seiji Ozawa and the Boston Symphony Orchestra in a Philips recording which is one to have. It is coupled with the Sibelius Violin Concerto. Enough for now. I have also been listening anew to the chamber music, some of the incidental music and the songs and will try to put something together on those during the holidays. Ed Waffle ewaffle@hotmail.com

James Wilke was asked a question and decided to test the collective wisdom of the board: “How is the traditional version of Swan Lake relevant to todays audience and society?” Among the responses so far was one from Cargill: “There are so many underlying themes in it--the power of nature, of sacrifice, illusion, seeking for an ideal. The issues are timeless, and it is so limiting to "modernize" a work of art. The music is lush and romantic and a production to be effective, must work with the music.” Cargill’s answer may seem complete in itself, but I wonder if part of the answer is also how to make the themes which seem so obviously evident to us just as clear to those who may be only occasional viewers of “Swan Lake” and ballet generally? One way not to do it is the current ABT production, with that horrible staged prologue behind a scrim, von Rothbart as the coolest pimp around playing footsie with the Queen in one act, then becoming a slime monster in the next. Which is not to say that all attempts to foreground (if I may) some of the themes must end in failure. This is a continuing controversy in opera, where stage directors now have significant power in staging classics, especially in the big festivals in Central Europe—Beyruth, Salzburg, Munich. They are important because they serve as indications of where opera staging is headed in the future. Festival audiences are often a bit jaded (“Cosi again this year?”) so it is easier to get away with outrages. The lush, romantic music of great nineteenth century ballets sounds different now from what it did then. Instruments have changed, as has musical training. We still respond to the music in a visceral, emotional way and the production needs to touch us, at least partially, in the same manner. How this can be done in the year 2001 I will leave to my betters. ------------------ "The great pleasure in hearing vocal music arises from the association of ideas raised at the same time by the expressions and sound." Joseph Addison, "The Spectator", 21 March 1711.

cargill-- While in full agreement that the H. Rider Haggard novel "She" could not be successfully made into a ballet, I believe it is for different reasons. Political incorrectness would not be a difficulty. The real problem would be that this work has already entered the Canon of Everything that is Important in Western Civilization in its film incarnations. Who could forget the 1965 masterpiece starring Ursula Andress...which was matched only by the 1985 version with Sandahl Bergman. I know I certainly can't. If anyone is interested in Sandahl Bergman's career, by the way, you can see her (lots of her) in the "Fly United" (or whatever it is called) sequence in "All That Jazz". ------------------ "The great pleasure in hearing vocal music arises from the association of ideas raised at the same time by the expressions and sound." Joseph Addison, "The Spectator", 21 March 1711.

And after "Bloomsday" I would LOVE so see someone take on "The Faerie Queen". Plenty of employment for dancers, since it could have separate casts for each level of allegory--not sure if they should dance simultaneously or consecutively (or both?) though.

Recently I awoke from an odd dream, in which I imagined that there was a Broadway show produced by Disney called "Aida", with music and lyrics by Elton John and Tim Rice. The tagline (in the dream, of course) was "The Story of a Love that Flourished in a time of Hate." Almost nothing could top that of course--but I was wondering about the opus from the 1960's "Valley of the Dolls"--although it does cry out for being done more as an opera than a ballet.

I refuse to easily concede second place to anyone in the tastelessness sweepstakes. On another thread a number of months ago I had posted that before ballet became one of my interests, vulgarity had always appealed to me and that had most likely informed some of my choices regarding ballet. Examples are Stowkowski’s transcriptions of Bach, Mozart and Beethoven played with all the lushness that steel strings on violins and valves on horns can bring, Puccini and Verdi sung by “golden age” tenors with little nuance and no understanding of the words they were singing. I have been very enthusiastic with Paloma Herrera in “Don Quixoite” although much less so with her in “Swan Lake”. MacMillan’s treatment of “Manon” does not deserve to be taken any less seriously than that of Massenet or Puccini, especially if it is becoming a signature piece by one of the major ballet companies of the world. The much praised pas de trois among Manon, Lescaut and GM and the brothel scene do tell the story and advance the plot. It is the scene with the captain in the prison in New Orleans which most turned me against this work and made me realize that MacMillan had no respect for the character he had created or for the necessity for that character to act in a way that does not contradict everything that she has done before that. It would be possible, of course, for Manon to have had some type of shipboard conversion and to decide that her virtue was now worth dying for when before it was worth whatever she could get for it. There is no indication that this happened, though. This is why the scene is simply one in which a woman is tortured for no reason whatever—the fear and desperation that is depicted is at odds with everything we know about this character up to that point. If she had given in to the jailer and then been killed or simply allowed to die it would have been in keeping with her character. Which is not to say that MacMillan should have done it that way—he wrote it the way he did and it should be taken as such. No offense is taken at hinting at a hint of prudery, although I would not agree with that designation. There are outrageously erotic moments in ballet and opera that I love—some of which almost anyone would describe as extremely depraved, such as all the incestuous couplings that take place and are celebrated in ravishing music in Wagner’s “Ring”. More on this later, but most likely under Leigh’s thread on “Sexuality” in the “News, Views and Issues” heading.

Nanatchka, in discussing “Edward II” had written: “This ballet has all the vulgarity and misogyny of MacMillan's Manon, taken to a truly staggering extreme.” Since the lady in question (Nanatchka, not Manon) has been an excellent guide to what is gold and what is dross over the years that I have read her, I decided it was time to see just how bad it was. Having never seen it on stage, since it is not often presented by touring companies who make it to the provinces, I resorted to videotape. The always reliable Robert Greskovic in “Ballet 101” says, “Using none of Massenet’s music from his opera of the same name, MacMillan’s ballet tells the same story, with slight adjustments of the ballet medium.” I viewed the tape he discussed, with the Royal Ballet featuring Jennifer Penney, Anthony Dowell and David Wall from 1982. It is difficult to even call the balletic Manon a character—she is more an objectified target of lust. MacMillan does bad guys well—Monsieur G.M. is reptilian enough to serve as the material for Manolo Blahnik—but the gentler human emotions seem beyond him. Evil, especially extreme evil, is easy to depict since there is so much energy in evil characters. The penultimate scene in the gaolers room is particularly egregious, since it depicts torture and the torture is not only unnecessary but also completely at odds with everything that we have seen of Manon up to that point. She has not hesitated to spend the only currency she possesses in the past and for significantly less return. The opulence of the life that Monsieur G.M. offered might have seemed worthwhile, but the captain in New Orleans has the power of life and death over the inmates. It is true that characters on the stage don’t (and shouldn’t) act like “real” people but they should act according to the way they have been shown to develop or not develop within the work in question. One does not complain that princesses aren’t really turned into swans, that a magic kiss can’t really awaken a girl from a coma or that a jealous lover didn’t kill Attila before he could sack Rome. It is enough that the work of art which encompasses such events is sufficiently profound to allow us to suspend our disbelief. If Attila does not attack Rome because he completes an anger management class or if Sleeping Beauty hadn’t eaten a poisoned apple but was suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome the drama loses much of its effectiveness. Once she arrives in New Orleans, MacMillan’s Manon does not act in the way she has invariably done until then and our willing suspension of belief becomes too difficult to maintain. Her recalcitrance in submitting to the captain is no different from a person with access to cash refusing to buy her way out of this situation. In the more debased argot of today, she refuses to “give it up”, even though she has done so countless times in the past and with much less at stake. Earlier, the pas de trois between Manon, her brother and Monsieur G.M. is not erotic, bawdy or sensual. It is simply in bad taste. The material is there for much more, of course. The depiction of sexuality with lyricism will do for comedy. The same sexuality tinged with authentic rapture, the shadow of death and the struggle for nobility in an ignoble world becomes tragedy. Since Manon is simply an objectified representation of lust, she is incapable of being the touchstone for either comedy or tragedy. The two treatments of this story with which I am most familiar are the operas by Massenet and Puccini. In both cases the title character is actually a person with whom we can identify. Which is not to say that women have fared well in opera. They jump from parapets, waste away from consumption, or (especially in Wagner) simply expire. But we can weep when they do because they have become characters that we care about. This is the case with the way Massenet and Puccini and their librettists handle this story. In neither case is Manon a complete innocent who is led astray, although she has some of that aspect in Massenet. The Frenchman was constrained by the conventions of the Opera Comique, a very bourgeois theater. In addition to making the title character somewhat naive, he also added a stern father for Des Grieux and a confrontation between Manon and Des Grieux in a church (Saint-Sulpice) with some of the most ravishing music ever written for the lyric stage. His Manon is carefully observed, tender, sensuous and subtle, as is his music for her. There is a harder edge in Puccini—from the beginning there is little doubt that Manon would never make it to that convent under any circumstances. In Act II there is an exchange between Manon and her brother which makes their current relationship clear—he is her pimp—and could point to an unnatural union in the past. She is most definitely not an innocent young lady from the country. Her first line, however, “Manon Lescaut mi chiamo” (My name is Manon Lescaut), whether sung by sopranos as different in temperament, looks and vocal color as Kiri Te Kanawa or Maria Callas, is unforgettable. It makes her a real character and we can remember it throughout the opera. There is a problem, of course, with the music that accompanies the choreography. It is taken from a number of Massenet’s operas, generally ones that have not held the stage. Massenet, like Strauss, was a second rate composer, but an excellent one. He produced a few masterpieces “Manon”, “Werther”, and large parts of “Thais” “Cendrillon,” and “Herodiade”. Possibly others—my knowledge of French opera is neither deep nor wide. However during his long, productive and successful career he also produced a LOT of commonplace scores as well as the few masterpieces. The score to MacMillan’s “Manon” seems to come from the lush but empty scores that made up the bulk of Massenet’s work. Which is only fitting, since music of real genius would overshadow the wretched activity on the stage and show its real lack of merit.

Regarding children at the ballet or opera—it is true that one cannot blame the kids, since it is too much to expect that they have the attention span to sit through an extended work with which they are not familiar. There are a few exceptions, such as “Hansel and Gretel” and (occasionally) “The Magic Flute” and, of course, the “Nutcracker”, but I whenever I see children at a performance I hope they are not seated near me. I am generally able to tune out some of the boorish behavior that has become endemic in audiences, although my wife tends to suffer fools much less gladly. She has a glare that lowers the temperature of the immediate area by about ten degrees which is generally enough to silence all but the most dense malefactors. However… Once during a performance of “Romeo and Juliet” by the Ballet de Monte Carlo at the Detroit Opera House, there were two young women seated next to us who just refused to be quiet. We were in the front row the Trustee’s Circle, the equivalent of the front row of the Grand Tier at the Met but much closer—the best seats for ballet, other than the front row of the orchestra. Seated next to us were two young women who would not keep quiet during the performance. I couldn’t really hear them, but by wife, who was seated next to them, got the full benefit of their yakking away: comments on the costumes, comments on which of their friends individual dancers looked like, that type of thing. Finally after about fifteen minutes of this, my wife turned to them and said “Ladies, you really MUST be quiet during the performance.” They were shocked and a bit hurt but kept silent, which was the point. In 1985 we were in Windsor, Ontario for the National Ballet of Canada doing “Don Q” with Karen Kain. Shortly before the conductor gave the downbeat a woman took the seat next to us. She had more dangly bracelets and other potential noisemaking jewelry than I had ever seen on one person. I feared the worst—an orchestra accompanied by a constant jingling. As it turned out she as a perfect seatmate for this performance, because the people seated directly behind us apparently were HUGE Karen Kain fans. They started talking about her as soon as she entered: “Oh she has lost weight.” “That color is not right for her.” The woman with the bracelets turned completely in her seat (with nary a jingle) and gave them the most terrifying “SHUSH” I have ever heard. Not a word from them for the rest of the night. ------------------ "The great pleasure in hearing vocal music arises from the association of ideas raised at the same time by the expressions and sound." Joseph Addison, "The Spectator", 21 March 1711.

Dale wrote: “And while we've touched on this topic, as a musician, I find it interesting that people in ballet think nothing of changing choreography or tempos to suit themselves ("Well, the choreographer would want me to look good, right?") while in music that just doesn't usually happen.” While it doesn’t happen for the musical proletariat laboring away in the pit, it does from the podium—and very often, in opera, from the stage, of course. The conductor of a symphony orchestra seems to have pretty free rein regarding tempo, phrasing, dynamics and other things that go into creating the sounds that we hear. Compare a recording of a Mozart symphony performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra under Solti with one performed by the Hanover Band, for example. In opera, which may be more closely related to the discussion at hand, it seems that very little of the core repertory is sung and played as written. The notable exception is Wagner, but that is dealt with by simply cutting a lot of it. In much of the nineteenth century Italian rep, performance practice that has developed over the years is as important as what the composer actually wrote. Audiences find it strange if the Lucia or Violetta or Leonora they are hearing does not take interpolated high notes that were most definitely not written by Verdi or Donizetti. None of which is bad. Much of what we hear on the lyric stage today was written for specific singers and specific opera houses. The works were created with certain artists in mind, which does not mean that they should not be performed today. It is even more true with some ballets, it seems. If a Balanchine work was created on Farrell or Tallchief or some other legendary dancer, other dancers with different gifts should not be kept from interpreting them. Music is a living art especially the ballet and opera wings of music. While some singers or dancers may want to make changes to a work based on less than noble reasons, my experience is that it is generally done for what are thought (by the singer or dancer) to be sound artistic interpretations. Whether they actually are sound, of course, is another matter entirely. ------------------ "The great pleasure in hearing vocal music arises from the association of ideas raised at the same time by the expressions and sound." Joseph Addison, "The Spectator", 21 March 1711.

Andrei wrote (on another thread): “By the way, I think about bows as very complicated art form. How long I have to bow, how low I have to bent, specifically to whom I have to make gestures, what's my relation with partners and so on and so on ...” I agree completely and speaking from the other side of the fourth wall, feel that watching bows is an important part of the entire experience of going to the ballet. Especially the bows of ballerinas, which are some of the most graceful series of movements that the human body can accomplish. There seems to be a few “standard” bows—or to be both more general and more specific, standard actions while accepting applause after a ballet. There is the art of presenting a flower to her cavalier by the ballerina who was given the bouquet. The ballerina’s bow itself seems to be variations of the typical (and lovely) sinking slowly to the stage with one leg extended. And on those occasions where there is a conductor in the pit who takes a bow, it is (I think) the prima ballerina who goes to the wings to lead him to the center of the stage. After which, at least houses in the North America, there are some group calls which the conductor seems to be in charge of. Is bowing taught or is it something that young dancers or students simply pick up from watching and imitating older performers? Are there specific schools or methods (Cecchetti, French, Russian) of bowing? It seems almost like laughing is with opera singers—a trained singer can laugh in tempo, on key and in character and has no special training to do so—singers I have spoken with almost always say the same thing, that “You just do it.” Is it similar with bowing and ballet dancers? Ed Waffle Michigan, USA

The way that audiences react and the expectations of how they will do so differ significantly among performing art forms. The appropriate response to opera seems to fall into two categories—Wagner and non-Wagner. For a Wagnerian opera, one is expected to not applaud until the end of an act— except for “Parsifal”, in which applause may be held until the entire opera is over (and the audience awakens). For all others, especially nineteenth century Italian works, the expectation is that there will be occasional interruptions of applause after well-known arias. It is remarkable and part of opera lore when a big aria does not stop the show. In chamber music recitals or symphonic concerts, of course, applause is expected only at the conclusion of a work—it is considered ill-mannered to applause between movements, no matter how beautifully the movement has been played and how profoundly affected one may be by it. It is even more exaggerated at song recitals, where it almost breath-holding quality of the silence between the songs of a series seems to be part of the experience of attending the concert, and one which I find increasingly annoying. I remember being surprised at the first ballet I attended when the dancers would finish a variation and then come to the footlights to bow and accept applause. In opera when the work in interrupted by applause (sometimes quite raucous and prolonged) the singers almost always simply stand and stay in character until it subsides. The conductor is the one who decides when to continue. In ballet it seems less intrusive—something happens which will cause applause, a recognition of it and then on with the show. Are these pauses to accept accolades put into the work based on how a producer or choreographer thinks the audience will respond? Are they also typical in the rest of the world (Russia, France, England for example)? Are they recent additions or are they part of the tradition of ballet?

I have been reading this thread with a lot of interest. The operatic term that is closest of “emploi” may be “fach”. Possibly like the ballet term “emploi", “fach” has been imported into a set of universal terms used in any language in which opera fans converse, and therefore has been stripped of many of the nuances in its original language, in this case German. Very broadly, fach is the range of roles to that a singer might be expected to perform based on, among other things, the color, agility, power, range and timbre of his or her voice. There are a dizzying variety of soprano voice categories, for example, and singers with long and successful careers may slowly move from one to the other. Where it differs significantly from emploi, at least as I understand it from this thread, is that it is as least as much a self-definition as one imposed on a singer. She (and her close advisors) will know best where the voice lies and what roles are most appropriate. Very few singers are successful in combining fachs. Those who attempt a lot of roles that are too heavy, too high, or that require darkening and lightening the voice quickly generally have short (although sometimes spectacular) careers. It is this real threat of permanently damaging one’s voice where the crux of the difference lies—it becomes as much a personal decision regarding a career as it does an artistic one.

First thanks to all who tried to explain what to look for in dancers’ feet when seated very close to the stage. Wish I could say that it worked, but they all looked great to me-—which isn’t to say that they were, only that I still can’t tell good from bad in this case. All ballerinas are beautiful, some more so than others. It is all the attributes of “ballerina-ness”, the entire seemingly impossible package of beauty, grace, strength, talent and hard work that makes them so. Romeo........Eric Frederic Juliet.......Emmanuelle Grizot Mercutio.....Gregory Milan Tybalt.......Salvatore Gagliardi Benvolio.....Jean-Jacques Herment Nurse........Stefania Sandrin Lady Capulet..Chantal Perpignan Choreography and lighting...Tilt Harm Sets and costumes....Michael Forssen Danced to a recording of Prokofiev’s score. Emmanuelle Grizot was almost everything one could ask for in a Juliet, especially given the inherent limitations of a truck and bus tour. She was enchanting, moved effortlessly, almost weightlessly and seemed to be a young woman in love. Very attractive with an extraordinarily beautiful jaw line. One of the reasons we go to the theater, of course, is that magic can always happen and it did in the last act, when Grizot changed from a demure and somewhat spoiled teenager to a person capable of making the most momentous decisions. She just took over the stage completelyin Act III-—it was her act in every way and she was heartbreakingly real. It was a riveting performance, almost shocking in its intensity. As Mercutio, Gregory Milan was energetic, almost hyperkinetic with a wonderful rakish smile. He is an athletic dancer who covers a lot of ground in his leaps. He was very much into his role and played it like a combination of Puck and Cherubino, with a touch of Nick Shadow thrown in. Chantal Perpignan did not have much to do as Lady Capulet, unlike other versions of this ballet. She was noble, regal and reserved until the last act, which made her anguish at the death of Juliet all the more heartbreaking. Very effective presentation of this character, both by the choreographer and Perpignan. She is strikingly attractive and bears a strong resemblance to the French film actress Fanny Ardant. Stefania Sandrin’s Nurse was another very well presented secondary character. It is a terrific role in the play but may be difficult to choreograph the combination of ribald good humor, limitless devotion, wisdom and depth of feeling that Shakespeare is able to create for her. In Harm’s depiction, Nurse was more a friend and confidant (although still a servant) to Juliet and close to the same age. Romeo, as usual, was a problem. His character may be difficult to portray—without Shakespeare’s mighty lines Romeo seems to vacillate between being a lovesick kid and a swaggering street tough. In this production he came across as a bit of a wimp, even with the plethora of flashing blades and bad-dude strutting that made up most of the street scenes. What is missing (and which may be impossible to show in ballet) is what makes Romeo a character with whom we can identify. Shakespeare conjures up love, steadfastness, bravery and purposefulness with lines like: Alack, there lies more peril in thine eyes Than twenty of their swords! Look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. Extremely effective scenery, mainly painted drops. Everyone knows Prokofiev’s score—it is one can be heard a lot and should be. He would be a genius if it were all that he wrote. Three curtain calls, a standing ovation, lots of “Bravos” and “Bravas” all well deserved. Not sure of the schedule, but if this talented company arrives at a venue near you they are well worth seeing.

Unscheduled replacements? I will take the chance of boring you with one that happened in the world of opera—at the Michigan Opera Theater, during a sold out Saturday night performance of “Aida”, which at least has a not insignificant dance component. Camilla Johnson, a gifted soprano who is developing a reputation for canceling performances, was singing the Ethiopian princess. She seemed fine during the first act. During the intermission David DiChiera, the general director of the MOT stepped from backstage and announced that Ms. Johnson was ill but wanted to continue and begged our indulgence. I turned to the person sitting next to me and said “that is the last we will see of her tonight”. A bit later DiCheira appeared again, this time to announce that Ms. Johnson was unable to continue but that Marquita Lister, the alternate cast Aida, was in the house, getting into her costume and warming up. And this time begged our indulgence for Ms. Lister. By now the intermission seemed as long as the second act of “Gotterdamerung”. The performance was structured so that the Nile scene came immediately after the intermission. Ms. Lister had to walk out on the stage and sing “O Patria Mia” right away. This may be the equivalent of coming into “Swan Lake” just in time to start the 32 fouettes. She was marvelous (as she had been with the “B” cast) and earned thunderous applause after this aria and a standing ovation during the curtain calls.

Victoria mentioned "Ballet 101", which I think is the perfect starting place in building a video collection (in addition to the recommendations you will get here, of course). The best way to buy it is by clicking the "amazon.com" banner at the top of this page so that a very small part of your purchase price will be paid to Balletalert.

Jeannie wonders if those of us in the provinces are as quick off the mark as are audiences on the East Coast. Here in the Motor City ballet audiences are generally sparse. It is unusual for the 2700 seat capacity Detroit Opera House to be more than two-thirds filled for ballet, while standard rep operas will sell out. Those who do attend dance performances come to applaud. At the recent Ballet Stuttgart performance (perhaps half the seats occupied), most people stayed for the curtain calls. Another reason for this is that EVERYONE drives here. There are no subways, elevated trains, commuter trains or any other form of mass transportation—I am not making this up. So, inconvenient as it is for every day life, it also means that people in audiences are not rushing to catch the last Metro North to Wilmette and have the extra ten minutes to stay and applaud. One of the essential cultural divides is between opera fans and ballet fans, although among others, Laura, Jeannie and I tend to span that gap. Opera fans tend to be MUCH less polite, of course, although boos, hisses and catcalls aimed at singers is unusual in this country. At least in Chicago and New York those are saved for (occasionally) conductors or (more often) designers and directors. There was a scandalous attempt to organize booing against Catherine Malfitano at the Lyric Opera in Chicago during a run of Verdi’s “McBeth” recently which came to naught. It is a different story in Western Europe—Rene Fleming was recently all but driven from the stage at La Scala, for example while singing “Lucrezia Borgia”. Perhaps the most insane examples of this are when a singer is booed for not being someone else. In other words, the aficionados of one soprano will attack another singer who does the same rep. The Callas/Tebaldi wars of the 1950s and 1960s are only one example of this. It is all but impossible to translate this type of misplaced ardor to another art form. Who would think of booing Julie Kent, for instance, because she danced Giselle and you preferred Susan Jaffe? Or buying a ticket in order to catcall Anne-Sophie Mutter because she is playing the Beethoven Violin Concerto and you prefer Viktoria Mullova?

Estelle and list: Regarding the two Manen pieces done by Ballet Stuttgart while in Detroit recently: The “Klienes Requiem”, to music by Gorecki I found so unremarkable that I am unable to remember anything about it—my wife was much more taken with it and I will ask her to post a response. One problem was that the score was so derivative (of other works by Gorecki). It sounded like an uneasy amalgam of his Third Symphony, which was the big “classical” hit of the mid-90s and also of his Concerto for Piano and Strings. While there is a long and noble tradition of composers reusing ideas or even entire sections of works—Rossini, Handel, etc.—in Gorecki’s case it seems to be more a paucity of invention than the demands of the musical marketplace. The program notes say only that it is “one of van Manen’s masterpieces, offering economy of movement and clean lines of exquisite beauty and a touch of humor—the hallmarks of van Manen’s style.” “Solo, the other Manen work, is described as “a fast paced, eight-minute work created by three men—a relay race of intricate footwork and lightning fast changes of direction. To this viewer, it looked like three guys running around while listening to Bach. I did discover that eight minutes is about as long I care to watch a ballet with no ballerinas on stage.

Stuttgart Ballet at the Detroit Opera House, 1/16/2000 With the North American International Auto Show in town, it was fitting that the ballet company from the headquarters city of DaimlerChrysler would come to town. There were four works on this program, all danced to recorded music: “Kazimir’s Colours” Choreographed by Mauro Bigonzetti, to “Concerto for Piano, Trumpet and Orchestra” by Dimitri Shostakovitch “Kleines Requiem” Choreographed by Hans van Manen to “Kleines Requiem fur eine Polka, Opus 66, by Henryk Gorecki. “Solo”, also by van Manen, to “Partita No. 1 for violin” by J. S. Bach “Initials R.B.M.E.” Choreographed by John Cranko, to “Piano Concerto No. 2 in b-flat major, Opus 83” by Johannes Brahms. The magic moment this afternoon came at the very beginning of the fourth piece, the Brahms. The b-flat major concerto, of course, is one of the best known of the big post-Classical works for piano and orchestra—and for all its familiarity, may be one of the most difficult. The recording that Stuttgart used sounded like the way I first heard it years ago. Chords crashing, tempos all over the place, Brahms as a tortured Romantic. After the understated opening of the first movement, the pianist enters before the orchestral exposition is complete, but then the orchestra reasserts itself and states the main themes alone. During the first piano solo a lone male dancer had the stage, and as the orchestra begins again the Stuttgart ensemble enters with it. It was a perfect visual manifestation of what we were hearing. Cranko must have been a very self-confident even hubristic artist. Taking on a masterpiece the size and complexity of this concerto is the mark of a choreographer who knew what he wanted. In the notes the ballet is described as “A ballet for friends Richard Cragun, Birgit Keil, Marcia Haydee and Egon Masden…” Each of the movememts of concerto was for one of the friends. Soloist Bridget Breiner was transcendent in the third movement, matching the lyricism of the movement which is highlighted by a cello solo and a quiet interlude between piano and clarinet. Each movement had a wet-on wet painted backdrop in natural shapes-- leaves, branches-- that was effective without drawing attention away from the dancers. The same designs were repeated in the costumes. The first work on the program, according to the notes, was “inspired by the paintings of the Russian artist Kazimir Malevich and the music of Dimitri Shostakovitch…in Bigonzetti’s fast paced and witty choreography.” An odd pairing, indeed. Malevitch was a Supremacist painter who asserted that the reality in art is the sensational effect of color itself. He wrote that “The object itself is meaningless and the ideas of the conscious mind are worthless. Feeling is the decisive factor and thus art arrives at non-objective representation—at supremacism. Like the Italian Futurists and (even more so) the Surrealists, Malevitch and others like him wrote as much about art as they created, often eager to dialectally define themselves by showing that the were the opposite of what they were not—in this case “representational” artists. Shostakovitch, on the other hand, was one of the most programmatic of composers. While music can much more easily be absolute than can painting, many of his works represented Russian (or Soviet) history. Shostakovitch, himself, of course can be seen as a vile collaborator, a misunderstood genius or brave defender of freedom. Or all three. Malevitch’s work is often based on the square and colors off-primary; the costumes were colorblock in reflection of this. Structurally, they were longish boxer trunks and short sleeved shirts – until the shirts were removed, first by lead dancers hidden in a group, then by the ensemble. The men then danced barechested, the women in jogbras. The second movement, Romantic and lyrical was danced beautifully by Roberta Fernandes, a soloist. She has a wonderful expressiveness and made the slow, languorous and controlled movements seem effortless. This is an excellent company. I would love to see their “Eugene Onegin”. The will be at City Center in a few days, followed by stands in Minneapolis, St. Louis and Orange County. Further information can be gotten at their web site: http://www.staatstheater.stuttgart.de/ball...l_ballett_.html

The way that artists and especially musicians in occupied countries (and in the Reich itself) responded to the imposition of Fascism is something that has long intrigued me. I have never thought of it regarding ballet, perhaps because ballet seems by its nature less “political” than opera, but if posters to this board know of sources in English they can point to it would be much appreciated. I have exchanged emails with a few people here regarding some individuals—for example Wilhelm Furtwangler, Bruno Walter and Herbert von Karajan. The recording of Furtwangler conducting “Fidelio” was what first put me under the thrall of this opera, and his very last recording, of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, done in 1954 is almost unbelievably beautiful. Testimony from members of orchestras who played under him show a respect bordering on awe. But he also led the Berlin Philharmonic during the Second World War, conducted concerts both in the presence of the highest Nazi officials and on tour at munition plants. At the same time, many Jewish musicians credit him with protecting them, and he was able to do so openly because he was the superstar conductor of the time. He believed that music was somehow above politics and looked down on the Nazi politicians as his social inferiors. Von Karajan, on the other hand, was evil in a most disgusting way. He was the most rank of rank opportunists, making a point of joining the National Socialist Party in both Vienna and Berlin to make sure that those in power knew he was completely in agreement with them. Regarding Leningrad during the war, the autobiography of Galina Vishnevskaya, while full of the type of score settling that diva memoirs almost always have, also recounts her life in Leningrad during the siege when she was in her early teens. At first reading it seemed amazing how much of “normal” life (which included opera, ballet and serious music) could continue under such appalling conditions. Then I realized that this was yet another instance of just how important these things that we may take for granted are in human survival—or at least the survival of groups of humans. It seems the need for beauty that transcends one’s everyday existence remains important (or could even become more so) as those conditions deteriorate. Thanks to Andrei for some more of the details. An aside to Estelle, who wrote: “Ballet in France during WWII seems to be a rather sensitive topic.” I imagine it, along with every other activity during World War II in France will remain extremely sensitive. I remember a phrase from a review of a book about the Occupation by Susan Sontag which discussed people who did not actively collaborate: “In order to survive, they practiced every form of ambiguity the human mind could devise.” A further aside to eabock--I was also thrilled by my designation as a junior member, since it has been a long time since I have been a junior anything. Enjoy it while you can, since, like many good things, it does not last forever. ed waffle michigan, u.s.a. ewaffle@hotmail.com

Wandering away from the original topic and picking up on the food thread-- Opera divas still have food named after them, which seems to be a natural in some cases. Renee Fleming, whose luminous performance as the Countess in "The Marriage of Figaro" was just broadcast is mentioned in the current issue of "The New Yorker." There is an great photograph of Ms. Fleming (who is a knockout) smiling broadly. According to the text that accompnies the photograph: New York chef Daniel Boulud has unveiled a new dessert that he calls La Diva Renee: a melange of chocolate, hazelnuts, and amaretto cookies in a sauce of clementines, the dish has a chocolate top printed with music from 'Der Rosenkavalier'. Sounds delicious.

Frederick Ashton saw Pavlova in Lima, Peru in 1917 when he was thirteen years old. According to "Secret Muses", a biography of Ashton by Julie Kavanaugh, it was seeing her that made him decide that he wanted a life in dance. According to Kavanaugh, "Pavolva, (Ashton) said years later was the greatest theatrical genius he had ever seen. By today's standards, her technique was poor; she rarely executed more than two pirouettes, but they were done with sure brio-'a sort of flurry' in Ashton's phrase-tht she gave the effect of at least half a dozen more. Pavlova's vibrant personality, the expressive play of every part of her body and the outpouring of ecstatic energy sent a charge through the auditorium, creating what one critic described as 'a kind of electrification of the air'. 'She was a spirit, a flame' said Ashton. 'She wasn't human.' ….Pavlova became Ashton's muse, imprinting a fateful kiss which lasted for the rest of his life. "Seeing her at that stage was the end of me. She injected me with her poison and from the end of that evening I wanted to dance.' Margot Fonteyn, toward the end of her life, told Kavanaugh: "I always felt that Fred was seeing Pavlova and that I wasn't living up to her by any means."

In the March "Dance Magazine", Jenny J. Veldhuis writes regarding competition winners: "It is common for these young virtuousos to have no idea what ballet their variation comes from, having never seen it or the ballet danced live." They often don't know who the original choreograher was, at what period the ballet was created, or who its original performers were." The situation among vocal contest winners in opera is not quite the same--not necessarily better, but different. However, vocal competitions are known to be auditions as much as contests, especially in the United States. Conductors, music directors, general directors and other career makers are often in attendance and just as often ignore the decisions of the judges when it comes to filling roles. It seems to make a LOT more sense to have competitions for opera singers than ballet dancers, though. In this country, just about every singer is a free-lance artist. She will be paid by the performance and is not a permanent member of a company--different in Europe, of couse. In regional opera, competition for roles is constant and fierce. It is not unusual for a singer who has placed well in a contest and who has a Ph.D. in vocal music to be competing with others who have similar credentials for an apprenticeship with a small company. As Steve mentions, the real winners are the dancers who make it into companies--and while winning a contest may be a factor in determining who is promoted within a company (I have NO IDEA if this is correct), it does not seem it would be a very important factor.

On another thread Alexandra suggested that more of us take part in the ballet quiz that is posted each Monday on this board. So I checked it out and once again did not submit an entry--the competition is formidable. I was able to answer 4 of the questions with a glance at the ballet reference books acquired haphazardly over the years, which made my realize that I really need a decent reference on dance. I have some collections of reviews, the usual synopsis and analysis of standard and less standard works, a few excellent books which define the actual movement of ballet, a few relatively sketchy general reference works. What I am looking for is the equivalent of the "Grove Dictionary of Opera." This is a four volume, 5000 page work. Unwieldy and expensive, but something that I wonder how I ever did without. There must be the same type of work for ballet--and I am hoping there is a shorter, edited version of it--the type of thing that would allow one to answer all the questions in the current quiz on Anthony Tudor, for example. So the question is--what is the basic, standard reference work in English on ballet, is there a good one volume version of it, and is generally available?

1) Agreement with Steve Keeley on ending--we saw Makarova and Nagy HURL themselves from a rock into the wings at the end of one performance and it is the single most memorable moment we have had in a theater. 2) The concertmaster should really dig into the adagio and play it not just as accompaniment but as a virtuoso solo violin piece. 3) All the things I will think of (as Juliet Shore mentioned) that I will recall as soon as I hit the "submit reply" button. [This message has been edited by Ed Waffle (edited 03-18-99).]

Katharyn wrote: "The eloquence of that single waif like arm and hand and the perfect expression of beng torn between adulthood and childhood passion on Justine Summers' face reduced me to tears... and I can't describe how that just appealed to me but I was in a trance for weeks afterward..." and also: "Since then I have not been able to get enough of dance." and furthermore: "Its amazing how one can become a slave to dance from just one perfect movement." While there are a lot of great posts on this board, the one I excerpt really hit me because it is such a beautiful validation of my own feelings, both of obsession and that the obsession can come from that perfect moment, a moment that may be missed or just not as obvious to other people watching. There is another thread "Spine tingling moments" which is seems to be about spine tingling moments in Giselle. But Katharyn's post brings back that one, essential, never to be forgotten time when suddenly the world of beauty and grace just opened up, became transparent where it had been opaque, the "shock of recognition" that this had been here for you all along and you are finally discovering it. And it is always (for me at least) as Katharyn describes it--the eloquent action displaying the emotional content of the character and resonating emotionally in us. THIS is how you go to the ballet (or opera or anything else worthwhile) and this is what can lead to hours spent walking and talking after a particularly moving performance, shocked that you were there, IN THE SAME ROOM as an artist who was able to touch you so deeply and seeminly with such graceful ease.