Pretentiousness: Analysis of 'Carmen' through theoretical frameworks

Apologies for the pretentiousness...It's an essay for a uni portfolio, and having spent a bit of time researching it, thought I may as well post. Might be quite interesting in the end...

By considering a dramatic performance through a theoretical framework, it is possible to see past the surface meaning by focusing on certain elements or themes that provide a deeper understanding of the piece. Often, it is possible to draw on several of these critical frameworks, looking at how they interact with and inform each other; so creating an awareness of how the piece is constructed with parts of a whole.

In terms of a complex operatic performance, such as Bizet’s Carmen, there are so many of these individual artistic elements, dramatic and musical, as well as overlapping themes, that it is difficult to achieve an in-depth understanding without using multiple frameworks. This also highlights the importance of selecting appropriate frameworks in order to create an insightful analysis. For example, in terms of an historic art form such as the operatic adaptation of Carmen, an analysis under new historicism would tell us a lot not only about the development of the form, but also the cultural implications of the plot. With music as the main language, a theory of musical semiotics would be extremely useful in this context for providing a reliable interpretation beyond that of the subjective emotional response. Finally, a broader theoretical approach, such as the application of feminism and gender subversion, would aid in a complete understanding of Carmen due to its close links with the dramatic content and the contemporary conventions of operatic characterisation, as well as how it interacts with both new historicism and the language of musical semiotics.

Through the frame of new historicism, it is possible to see Carmen as a product of its historical context, as well as a tool by which to understand cultural and musical development. The subject matter of Carmen is particularly interesting under an analysis of this kind. In mid 19^th century Europe, the role of ‘Dangerous Other’ had been passed from Turks to Jews and finally to Gypsies and literature and composition was littered with reference to Gypsy culture. This ‘otherness’, along with the ‘fabled looseness of the cigarreras’ established Carmen, in the 19^th Century mind, as a stereotypical gypsy; a temptress. This racist 19^th Century western perception of gypsy culture failed to recognise anything that didn’t adhere to this stereotype, even such striking dissonances as the chaste dress of all gypsy women, which Adrian Mourby recognises as protectiveness of ‘womenfolk’ apparent in all ‘vulnerable minorities’.

In new historic terms, it is the form which is most important in highlighting artistic development. Unlike Mozart’s foray into Spanish culture in Don Giovanni, Bizet creates a soundscape fitting with the content of the piece. By using compositional techniques such as the Andalusian cadence (or the minor descending tetrachord) which are inherent in the flamenco music of Spanish and Gypsy culture, Bizet creates a strong relationship between the music and drama, so advancing the operatic form in its dramatic scope and plausibility.

As musicologist Joseph Kerman notes, feminist criticism is generally absent from the study of music-drama, especially in the dangerous territory of operatic performance, where the conventions of ‘femininity’, as well as gender subversion due to ‘breeches roles’, are normalised. This highlights the importance of applying new theory to dramatic works in order to obtain a deeper contemporary understanding. In Carmen, it is possible to approach feminism on two levels; simply with the dramatic events, and simultaneously through the context of musical semiotics. As music is the primary language of operatic performance, it is important to use the theory of musical semiotics to support, and see if there is any foundation in, a feminist approach.

Literary critic Catherine Clemént makes the important distinction between women’s role in opera as a form, and their role within the dramatic content; ‘No prima donna, no opera. But the role...is not the deciding role...women perpetually sing their eternal undoing’. This is certainly true in Carmen, where the eponymous heroine, possibly ‘the most feminist’ character throughout the operatic tradition, meets a tragic death at the hands of a man; in Carmen’s case, Don José. This male dominance is not only evident in the final sequence, but is subliminally transferred to the audience throughout through the construction of the music (specifically Prelude and Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre) which conjures combative, ‘masculine’ bullfighting. Described by Clemént as ‘one of opera’s inspired and unconscious transferences’, this application of musical semiotics highlights to us the inescapability of Carmen’s feminine condition; existing in relation to men, with ‘music devoted to a woman convok[ing] virile heroes’.

It is Carmen’s attempt to achieve freedom from this stifling social condition, both musically and dramatically, that, for Clemént , establishes Carmen as a strong feminist figure. This is no better demonstrated than in the modality of the composition. If safety and convention can be classified as tonal and diatonic, Carmen’s chromaticism ‘threatens the world of rational order and control’ and this is strongly evident immediately after Don José’s strongly diatonic and typically Romantic aria, La fleur que tu m’avais jetée, which is answered by Carmen with the tritone. Semiotically, the tritone (or augmented fourth) is the primary interval of dissonance in Western harmonic theory, symbolic of diabolus in musica, and so indicative of Carmen’s social standing in challenging contemporary convention; the ‘demon’.

Despite the fact this musical representation of a challenge to convention seems like a strong feminist action, it unfortunately gives a musical reason why Carmen will eventually have to submit to the patriarchy of operatic convention, dying at the hands of her lover, Don José. In accordance with the theory of musical semiotics, ‘absolute closure’ is synonymous with diatonic cadence, which is musically impossible with Carmen’s ‘harmonic promiscuity’.

According to Clemént though, looking at this through a structuralist perspective makes this acceptable within the framework of feminist criticism. In the aria in which she prophesises her death, En vain pour eviter les réponses amères, Carmen voices a ‘revolutionary proclamation of a woman who chooses to die before a man decides it for her’. This is particularly evident through the use of foreboding word-play in the original French lyrics. When spoken, or sung, ‘la mort’ (death) and ‘l’amour’ (love) are indistinguishable; so highlighting Carmen’s realisation that in this circumstance, the two are inseparable, with a man’s love as the ultimate cause of her death.

In conclusion, by considering a dramatic piece through the focus of several theoretical frameworks, it is possible to gain a deeper understanding of the latent content and historical contexts. As indicated with a feminist, new historical and semiotic analysis of Carmen, a seemingly simple story of a Gypsy temptress, becomes a vehicle for feminist protest, the power of patriarchal society, the development of the operatic form and the racist views of 19^th Century society. By applying a strong focus on specific areas of the performance, the thematic nerve-centres are revealed, which creates a wider appreciation of all aspects of the performance; in starting with a narrow focus, the analysis builds to encompass a wider range of themes, and therefore understanding.

Renaissance...finally

Renaissance of MANY forms occurring here. Well...actually two. 1) Re-birth of the dreaded blog again after what feels like several years off whilst studying for final exams 2) Re-visiting the music of childhood...

Reverting to my childhood might not have been the best plan for success in A level exams, but lullabies have pulled me through by far the most stressful days of my, albeit very short, life.

First is this absolute gem by some guy I've never heard of. However, Xavier Montsalvatge is apparently very famous for his collection of songs for mezzo-soprano, the most celebrated of which has a title probably not approved of by the PC police: Cancion de cuna para dormir un negrito...

The bit with the humming breaks my heart...I'm not entirely sure why. Anyway, this is genius. I'm very fickle with modern composition, but I don't even mind the dissonance in this...not sure how the dozing baby would feel about it...but it's good enough for me. Team that with my love for that instrument that's like a piano but isn't, and on the whole it's ace. Only as you can probably tell, I'm not 100% positive WHY I think it's ace...it just...is.

Next on the track list of Now That's What I Call a Lullaby 65, is a tune that's been engraved (or should I say notated?) onto my mind, and most of our minds, since...well since birth. We have a cassette tape somewhere of my brother singing Brahms' lullaby, followed by some slightly less beautiful (actually, it's positively soul destroying) white noise. These two tracks were apparently the only thing that would get me to sleep. However, try as he might, I don't really think my brother could top this complete sweetness:

Simplicity at its best...Lullabies must be the best stress relief around.

Questo e un nondo avviluppato

Genius. My von Stade obsession continues - and who says obsessions are bad?! It's led me to possibly THE greatest recording of this truly awesome sextet...

If there was anything to make me feel insufficient in the r-rolling department, it is most certainly this. I've just NEVER been able to do it...so judging from this video, that pretty much rules out me ever singing Cenerentola. Because, I mean, of course I could handle the ridiculous coloratura...it's just the r-rolling getting in my way.... :/ But my blatant singing impairment aside, I love the fact that they've taken this r-rolling business to the absolute extreme; something really to focus on. And boy have they got it perfect. Staccato + Rolled R's = My idea of Aural heaven.

I'm officially in love with von Stade's voice. She swaps between registers like she hasn't even heard of, let alone has, passagio...and it seems to come so easily that it seems like she's just speaking...just very relaxed and natural...I can't even really describe it all that well. I just know I love it. Lots.

From all of the other recordings I've seen/heard, I gather that for a director, this is quite a difficult piece to place. I mean, it's hardly reality. This is by far the best version I've found, and the silhouette idea was a pure revelation - perfectly simple and un-showy, leaving us to appreciate the music. If only all directors had had this idea! A lot of the versions were more than acceptable (the most recent Garanca version and a Bartoli production from the 90's) though we'll glaze over a certain production where the director thought adding nursery rhyme-like hand gestures would add a certain je ne sais quoi...

So it's a toss up now between buying the Met's new production with Garanca, or this film version from the 80's...my empty pockets are saying I have to choose...but I suppose there's no harm in having two Cenerentolas on the shelf right?!

Vaga Luna Che Inargenti

Update: I've figured out how to embed videos which is a nice little technological advance for all 1.5 of you readers to enjoy! I do try to keep you all happy, though with so many readers it can be difficult ;)

So, Vaga Luna Che Inargenti, a beautiful and sensitive art song by Vincenzo Bellini. Maybe. No one's really sure if it's his because it wasn't published in the Tre Ariette collection. But to my, albeit completely unworthy and naive ears, it couldn't be written by anyone else. The achingly simple melody, zero ornamentation, and phrasing that just gently folds in on itself seems to be everything that Bellini was ever about. What amazes me about this though is how someone could write such an utterly heart-rending, tear-jerking, pass-me-the-kleenex piece, in a major key?! Bellini's a legend.

Subtle isn't a word that I would often attribute to Cecilia Bartoli. For me, the breathyness and the oddly elastic face get in the way for a lot of the stuff she does; sometimes it goes so far as to scare me ever so slightly. However her interpretation of this piece is really subtly sublime. Nothing's showy, and she's really singing the song. And that breathyness that I usually hate? I'm going to concede and say that for this piece, it adds a different sort of shading and dynamic that really works, showing the weakness of the singer for the love she's singing about. And she sounds just beautiful I swear, that's the only time I'll like it though :) She and the ever amazing Thibaudet work like a perfectly choreographed dance; both know exactly what the other's doing, the phrasing sensitively moulded by them both.

So the poor neglected blog is slowly being revived :) but now I'm off to finish studying...and by studying I mean diligently reading Gramophone.

"Les Filles de Cadix"

It seems that every soprano in Christendom has done a version of this song be Delibes, so I have NO idea why I've never heard it before. I love just stumbling across something on youtube! Now...I feel bad...the version I was immediately drawn to was by the wonderful, exceptional, to-die-for, words-can't-possibly-describe, Frederica von Stade. But -despite the fact that she can't actually properly pronounce the very important lyric 'Cadix' in this song - I preferred Diana Damrau's interpretation. *prepares self for stoning of Biblical proportions*

Is it just me, or does this piece sound exactly like it should be in Carmen? Composed in 1874, a year before Carmen premièred at the Opera Comique, I wonder if Bizet consciously robbed Delibes? Because, that first phrase of Les Filles is pretty much exactly the same as the first phrase from the Chanson Boheme that opens Act 2 of Carmen. Who knows, maybe I'm just being a bit too investigative - but wouldn't it be strange...

Though Carmen may be the most obvious product of the gypsy genre, there were many works concerned with the subject written at time. There was a certain obsession with 'the other'; a theme that'll always crop up, regardless of the era. In Mozart's time it was Turks, and in the early 19th Century for a brief time, it was the fascinating Jewish immigrants. Then came the dangerous, colourful gypsies; there to provide us with a bit of exotica in music halls around the world.

What I really like about Les Filles de Cadix is this exotic element - the soloists sings of dancing a bolero to the sound of the castanets, the percussive sound cutting through the orchestra as she sings. What's also nice, is that what starts off as the stereotypical 'gypsy-alluring', turns into something quite aggressive (which is perfectly executed with Damrau's increasingly dramatic vocal colour). Though, the music, like the gypsies themselves are doing, tricks you - breaking from the quick fire racing aggression, into lyrical 'Ahhh's' in which phrasing is key in teasing out every inch of...well...tease.

I think what made me chose this over von Stade's performance was the vocal acting employed by Damrau...she just seems to encapsulate the gypsy free-spirit this was written to mimic. She's wonderful at alternating between the girly, coquettish tone and strong, resonant, and quite intimidating (!) colour and depth. She's famous for her ear splittingly high coloratura, but I heard her say in an interview once, that coloratura is fun, but it doesn't touch people. She's certainly got the right idea, and though this may not be a particularly good example of a 'touching' aria - she knows exactly the right way to go about telling the story. I like :)

"Ero desso, il figlio mio"

Of all of the Italian beasts of Bel Canto composition, Donizetti is the one I am least acquainted with, so I hope Lucrezia Borgia is a good place to start...

Based on Victor Hugo's play (which itself was based on the legend of Lucrezia Borgia), Gaetano Donizetti's opera didn't get off to the best of starts. When the opera opened in Paris in 1940, Monsieur Hugo said the production breached copyright and performances were forced to be cancelled. But the day was saved when someone had a stroke of genius and simply changed the Italian characters to Turks and slapped a new title on it; 'La Rinegata'. This was deemed sufficient for the French copyright bigwigs, and performances were resumed.

The plot centers around Lucrezia Borgia herself; resident masked murderer and wife of the Duke of Ferrara. Gennaro is her son, though he doesn't know it yet, and in an act of defiance against the havoc wreaking Borgia family, he defaces the coat of arms outside the house, knocking off the 'B' to leave 'orgia'...and I'm sure you can guess what that means. Lucrezia is clearly pissed off and orders the vandal to be killed, though only just manages to give Gennaro the antidote to the poison given by the Duke, before imploring her son to escape from the city. Her thirst for murder clearly isn't quenched though, and in a revenge attack for a barrage of insults on her family, she poisons all of Gennaro's friends at a party. Only...Gennaro never left the city, and as his friends all die around him, he attempts to kill Lucrezia, who only narrowly escapes death by laying down the 'Stop, I'm your Mother' card. Lucrezia once again offers her son the antidote, but he choses to die with his friends; and in this final cabaletta 'Ero desso, il figlio mio', Lucrezia mourns her loss. EPIC.

You can tell, from the very first beat of this piece that it's going to be tragic in truly epic proportions. Not only is the tragedy in place very quickly, but as is Lucrezia's love for her son. The powerful, almost violent, beginning suddenly gives way to a softer flute interjection; which is so reminiscent of Bellini's magic morbidezza. Thinking about this, of all of the famous Bel Canto composers, I'd say (from my very small dose of Mr. D!) that Donizetti seems to have an overall style of composition most similar to that of Bellini. Also, the first chord and subsequent pulsing violin accompaniment instantly (and oddly) reminded me of Prokofiev's ballet Romeo and Juliet for some reason...but either way, the stage is set for anguish and calamity before Lucrezia's even opened her mouth.

And when she does, all of the musical forces of tragedy come together. In the version sung by Renée Fleming on youtube, you can sum up the entire piece by listening to the second word she sings - all of the anguish in her heart is pushed out like some grand scale catharsis on the word 'desso'. Fleming isn't well known for her Bel Canto technique, and therefore the cadenzas are a little more murky than what you'd expect from a singer experienced in this repertoire, however no one could fault her vocal acting, which is just superb. Her best cadenza is an 'improvised' unwritten one, where she goes up to an eye-watering G if I'm not mistaken, which is quite breathtaking.

I'd be quite interested to hear a mezzo soprano singing this...Renée Fleming is great in that she has the dark vocal colour that is needed - however, this is lost slightly on the extreme lows. Though I'm not sure I'd trade those passing moments for the sparkling high register...though I suppose there are plenty of mezzos out there who can more than handle the two octave runs with impressive agility (DiDonato springs to mind...watch this space!).

I wish Lucrezia Borgia was performed more often, as based on this short extract, I would most definitely buy my ticket; albeit the cheapest ticket 'up in the gods'...

"Ach! So fromm, ach! So traut"

And now, Lyonel's aria, one of the most famous arias from Friedrich von Flotow's 'romantic comic' opera, Martha.

Before I start on anything at all, I adore this man's voice. As I've said before in the Nina entry, I love the fact that at first you feel like you're listening to a baritone, until he hits those glorious high notes. I'd be really interested to see him in a baritone role at some point...I wonder whether he could handle it?

Set in England in 1710, Martha is nice and stereotypical and begins with...wait for it...a disguise! Lady Harriet, bored with her life and suitor, Sir Tristan, decides to mix it up a bit. She and her maid go incognito as country girls 'Martha' and 'Julia' to a country fair. Brilliantly, Sir Tristan is persuaded to go as 'Farmer Bob'. In a slightly creepy twist, the country girls are auctioned off for work at the highest bidder's farm; and brothers Plunkett and Lyonel win Martha and Julia. There is much confusion involving farmwork, Farmer Bob, a group of hunters and the Queen herself - but all ends happily with Lady Harriet's bizarre behavior being forgiven Lyonel being made the Earl of Derby, and Plunkett marrying Nancy aka Julia. Brilliant.

The interesting thing about this piece, by German composer von Flotow, is that it is so typically french. An interesting twist that may help to explain this, is that Flotow's musical training was all French, hence why the lyrical line of the melody is something that you'd expect from the tip of Massenet's quill. It's slightly unnerving therefore to here the German lyrics...but it's so beautiful that in the end you don't really mind.

"Mild und leise wie er lachelt"

I'm scared of Wagner. Who wouldn't be when you hear stories worthy of Halloween about fated trips to a Der Ring das Nibelung lasting 24 hours over 4 days due to some particularly geriatric conducting. Even apparent musical geniuses such as Elina Garanca have had a painful Wagner experience; Tannhauser "bored [her] to tears". Albeit she was 7 at the time...Anyway, needless to say, I've avoided Mr. Wagner like the plague; until now...

In retrospect, having taken the Wagnerian plunge, so to speak, I'm not entirely sure what I was so scared about. Sure, I've not actually watched an entire 5 hour opera...but it's not really what I was expecting - my main Wagner knowledge coming from piano pieces that are just like the musical manifestation of Nazism. In fact, it's quite the opposite - as the title suggests; 'soft and gentle'.

This dreamy lament, 'Mild und leise', comes at the very end of Tristan und Isolde, when surprise surprise, there's a dead body to weep over. In a situation mirroring that of the famous Romeo and Juliet, this scene is referred to as 'Liebestod' - sticking together the German words 'liebe' and 'tod' meaning 'love' and 'death' - which basically means that the love is proven in, or after, death. Pretty tragic stuff really.

The melody grows out of complete silence; and there is something so soft and spiritual about this effect, as not only the dynamics grow, but the texture of instrumentation does too. When I hear it I can almost see Tristan's spirit leaving him, in front of Isolde's very eyes. What starts off as Isolde's personal, soft anguish, turns into externalised despair as the orchestration gets thicker, and the vocal line more desperate, as she tries to plead with herself, imagining Tristan reviving - asking 'do you not see?', 'how his eyes fondly open'.

The great thing about Jessye Norman's voice, is that it's simply huge. Even in the highly dramatic phrases in this aria, I never find myself thinking 'oh wow, she's completely spent now', instead; I always believe she's got some back up reserve of uber-power. This seems to work really well with this, as the orchestra creates what seems almost like a resistance, keeping the vocalist back slightly - which is, I suppose, the musical representation of how Isolde is constantly hitting the barrier of reality, preventing her imagination, and her voice, from soaring and bringing her beloved Tristan back to life.

Well...after that success, might even try seeing the whole thing! This will be a truly monumental occasion - perhaps this can be Musical fear No. 3 to overcome; greek myth and children down, Wagner to go!

"Pochudilis mne budto golosa"

I love Tchaikovsky more than most things in the world. There's something so richly melancholic about his intrinsically Russian music - I really really more than anything in the world wish I could be Russian when I hear any of his work - especially the vocal pieces; I have a particular soft spot for his Lullaby and At the Ball. Eugene Onegin was/is still, a total masterpiece; one which I can't fault in any way...especially when we have such a brilliant interpreter of Tatyana, and Russian music as a whole; Renée Fleming (yes...I may be a little bit obsessed...)

Anyway, I bought her CD 'Homage; the Age of the Diva' just the other day, and needless to say, skipped ahead straight to the Tchaikovsky - this little gem, 'Pochudilis mne budto golosa' from The Oprichnik...which I don't know at all...

From what I can tell from my sparse research, the Oprichnik were like mafia men/secret police for Ivan the Terrible in the 16th Century...carried such fashionable objects such as brooms and severed dogs heads...rode around on massive black horses in huge black cloaks...basically tortured everyone in the name of Ivan the Terrible...and all the time attempting to uphold the fact that they thought they were a bit like monks. As soon as Ivan realised he'd made a massive error, he disbanded these guys and made it punishable by death to ever mention it again. Way to end the terror there, Ivan, good plan. Anyway, seems to me an odd basis for a plot, even by operatic standards. Though, it does actually follow characters, set within this strange context; as opposed to Tchaikovsky being centuries ahead of his time and thinking 'hmm I know, I'll do a bit of docu-drama!'.

Anyway, legend has it that Mr Pyotr was largely displeased with the opera when he was getting going. In letters he was found to have said "I've been terribly lazy of late; the opera is stuck at the first chorus", that he'd "only written a couple of scenes". It seems to me though, procrastination whilst writing an opera is SO much grander then procrastination whilst...say...writing an essay. I mean, the guy's writing an OPERA - he deserves a break once in a while don't you think?!

So, Nataliya's Aria from this collection is beautiful. To be honest, I don't know the context of the piece at all, I only have a translation...so it's quite difficult to place it and make judgements about it - but I'll give it a go all the same.

The opening string melody (set under Nataliya's slight recitative section, where she questions whether she hears the sound of footsteps) for some bizarre reason makes me think thats she's escaped outside of a soirée somewhere, or that she's on the outside of some social breakdown...I think it must be the slightly distant style of the strings...and the text explaining how she "all alone" looking for a "glimpse" of her love. However, lets face it, looking at the history of the Oprichniks, something tells me there aren't going to be any lovely parties happening - it's just a strange interpretation I guess...I can't wait to see how completely wrong it is :) However, the pain which "stings [her] heart" really become obvious with the desperately soaring vocal line, perfectly displaying her anguish. The string accompaniment too, is a perfect example of Tchaikovsky's melancholic style. My absolute favorite part of the whole aria, is when the desperate searching for this "glimpse", which she prays to come "quickly"(nicely painted with the impatient movement forward of the music, like the thoughts rushing around in her head) is broken. What follows is a stunning prayer like lament - begging the wind to "carry [her] love back to her". It's like the musical equivalent of a roller-coaster. At the beginning, you're going down the steep drops, round the corners, feeling your stomach up in your throat. Then the string accompaniment rhythmically pulses and slows down as you reach the steep climb...you can feel the carriage pulling foward...then you reach the perfect moment at the top, when the momentum just carries you over the curve, into no-bars-held emotional free fall. The movement of this aria is one of the most heard rending I've heard - it's not only the notes that do it for me.

The thing as a whole is heartbreaking, and I love it, of course. There's nothing quite like Russian music, and it's certainly a favorite...I may explore some more...watch this space :)

"Abendsegen"

As well as my previous prejudice of things based on greek myth, I also have a slight fear of dramatic works in which children are played by adults. It seems to leave the roles open to massive exaggeration, and I end up sitting in my seat praying for the ground to swallow me up.

However, I heard of this piece, "Abendsegen", or "Evening Prayer" from Humperdinck's "Hansel and Gretel", and realised that the singers need nothing more than to sing the duet; the childlike simplicity and innocence of the writing doing all of the work for them. This clip is also worth listening to simply for the brilliance of Frederica von Stade - who has the power to make anything sound wonderful.

I came across the duet in a search of lyrics for a SATB lullaby I'm currently composing, and I not only found said lyrics, but also a beautiful duet that I really want to try.

I get the impression that if you didn't know this was from an opera, you'd think it was a sacred piece. It's the harmonizing mezzo line that gives me this impression, with melismas underneath the held soprano line, creating the feminine cadence that you come across in a lot of sacred music. I think. I'm not really explaining this very well...I'm having a musical mental block - just take a listen and you'll see what I mean. Obviously it's a child's prayer, and has religious connotations, and the style of composition is so reminiscent of works sung in church. This is, after-all, probably what Humperdinck wanted us to think, where he wanted us to be transported.

Also, you can forget the tenor/soprano duet; there is nothing quite like a mezzo/soprano duet. Someone important, I can't specifically remember who, has said that nothing quite conveys love like the sound of a female/female duet - hence the presence of so many castrati/trouser roles in opera. Clearly in this case, with the singers being young children, that love is in an innocent, divine love - voiced through this beautiful prayer.

I wish I could do this piece more justice...I've left writing far too late and now I'm struggling to think of anything remotely worthwhile to say. It may also have something to do with staying up until 2am to pour my heart out about Carmen last night. I might have to revisit this later on, I feel like I'm letting it down. Look out for Abendsegen Part II!

But finally, let's just hear it for Engelbert Humperdinck - the man with THE best name since...forever. There's a saying that 'Guiseppe Verdi was just plain Joe Green back home'; but Engelbert Humperdinck must have been awesome wherever he went. I would have bowed down in the street to a man with a name like that.

Richard Eyre's "Carmen"

It's 11.30 - and thus ends one of the most awesome cinematic experiences of my life- ever. And that is by no means an exaggeration. I've just got back from the Met's live broadcast of Richard Eyre's production of "Carmen", and too emotionally drained to write about anything else, I figured I might as well write about this :)

Bizet's masterpiece, Carmen, is amazing. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it's one of the most appealing operas ever written. That doesn't mean the best necessarily; but you could go to Carmen at any point in your life, on any day, at any time - and get lost in the drama. I was discussing this with my friend Anna as we were sitting amongst our white haired counterparts, and we settled on the fact that it works so well because you have the marriage of a stunning score and gripping plot. This may seem pretty obvious, but if you look at some other opera's that are less 'easy' to listen to then you'll see what I mean. Der Rosenkavalier, for instance, is stunning because of the music - the plot line is a little bit wacky, and it's generally believed that you have a better understanding of it later in life. Eugene Onegin, my favorite opera of all time, is a tale of very frustrating non events. In Carmen however you've got music, intrigue, seduction, love, lust, deception, betrayal, murder...and apparently comedy.

I can safely say that everyone in the theatre fell in love with Elina Garanca over the course of the opera. I wouldn't be surprised if every man and woman in that theatre was seduced by her intelligent, sultry, and witty interpretation of a role so open to cliche. I was eavesdropping a bit in the theatre, and most people confirmed my belief that she's such a convincing and natural actress that it's hard to believe she's doing all that whilst singing with such technical security (and sometimes dancing as well!). The amount of comedy that she brought to the table, be it by teasing the officers or doing bizarre bugle impressions, gives the Carmen that we all know so well, a realistic and 3 dimensional edge. And who knew eating an orange could be so seductive? But what she really pulled off, was the element of spiritual freedom (with which she tempts José in the second act) as well as a perfect dose of nonchalance; she was like a sly cat playing with the poor little mice before eating them. This made the whole journey of the character, and her swapping from man to man, much more believable. This is just perfectly demonstrated after poor Don José pours his heart out to her, in a 'bravo!' worthy rendition of 'La fleur que tu m'avais jetée'. She keeps her facial expression the same throughout, only to blow away the dried leaves of the flower which José holds out to her. It got quite a laugh from the obviously sadistic opera fans.

And I haven't even started on her voice! But it won't take long. It's just amazing :) The richness and depth has certainly developed even since the autumn run at the ROH. 'En vain pour éviter les réponses ameres' was even more moving second time round, because of the intensity and resonance of the lower register. And of course, she more than pulled off the old war-horses with a combination of the heart-stopping voice and, surprise, surprise - doing away with all cliché.

Roberto Alagna, reprising his famous Don José, was the perfect puppy-dog come pit-bull. I heard on the opera grapevine that he had a cold prior to this performance, but you wouldn't tell thanks to that impeccable voice, with some really stunning pianissimi. Hats off as well, to stand in Baritone, Teddy Rhodes, who must have been really wetting himself, having only got the call 3 hours before curtain up. He greatly surpassed Ildebrando d'Archangelo in the ROH production, bringing a brilliant mix of testosterone and a surprise hint of modesty to the role. I was also pleasantly surprised with Barbra Frittoli's Michaela, whom I always feel is a bit wet and no competition for Carmen whatsoever. However, Frittoli's colour is much darker than what the role usually demands, adding to an already stoical interpretation of what is essentially a meek character. The level of singing was so high, that the cast generally achieved what, paradoxically, every singer sets out to achieve; to make the audience forget they are singing.

Richard Eyre challenged so much of the stereotypical elements of Carmen with a stunning set, and all-round intelligent interpretation. I feel like I've seen a completely different opera to my ROH experience. First time, I felt that the love between Michaela and José was a one way street, with poor, annoying Michaela's love unrequited. This time, the clear passion, feeling and understanding between the two characters gave the whole turn of events not necessarily a different meaning, but certainly highlighted Don José's changing character and motives. I was also greatly touched by Carmen's declaration of love to Escamillo in the final scene, feeling that instead of it being Carmen at her old tricks again, this time she really meant it. Which of course makes her untimely murder all the more tragic.

Never have I seen such an intense final scene in opera. The murder of a mezzo soprano is so much more exciting than the slightly random death of the consumption riddled sopranos...yes I mean you Violetta/Thais/Mimi/Manon. But in this scene, I thought I was having a minor heart attack, my heart was racing that much. I know the story, I could hum 'C'est Toi...C'est Moi' to you right now; but the connection between the two protagonists was just unreal. That is, unreal in the sense that it was hard to believe such a 'real' connection could be achieved on stage. I felt I was witness to real events unfolding before my very eyes. My friend, and opera companion, Anna, was in a fierce battle of wills, knowing that Carmen is murdered in the end, but still holding out that every time José lets her go, he might not try again. This production didn't need black stallions, donkeys and chickens, as in Francesca Zambello's rustic staging - it was the chemistry between the characters which electrified the audiences.

And to top it off, who should be presenting the HD broadcast but the Met's very own darling, Renée Fleming; who, as always, added to the experience with some wonderfully insightful questioning of the cast, conductor and choreographer.

All in All? Without doubt 11/10

"In questi estremi istanti"

The Rossini from the previous post, perhaps unsurprisingly, led to some more Rossini; in the form of a beautiful trio from Maometto Secondo...

Elina Garanca's 'Bel Canto' was probably the CD that completed my transformation from 'average teenager' to 'obsessed nerd'. So much of my musical taste has stemmed from this single CD; obviously starting with Bel Canto music, and then basically moving through Garanca's repertoire to the more Romantic roles of Charlotte and Carmen.

I specifically remember stumbling across recording of her singing the famous 'Flower Duet' from Lakmé with Anna Netrebko. Instead of focusing all my attention on the soprano (a crime I'm often guilty of...though I'm getting much better!), I was totally captivated by the mezzo and her intelligent, modest performance. Needless to say, I didn't learn the soprano line I was meant to...

Anyway! Maometto...not a very well known opera really, in anyone's books; but as is so often the case, there are some really great pieces of music in it, that deserve to be heard. The stunningly simplistic trio 'In questi estremi istanti' is certainly one of them.

Cut down to the bare essentials, the haunting melody is established by the mezzo, then repeated by soprano and tenor, whilst the others harmonise. Sounds pretty basic on paper, but the simple ideas are always the best! The clever thing about this trio, it seems, is how all of the parts perfectly blend together, and that the momentum builds as each layer is added. Parts are passed down like a production line as more parts enter, and the harmonic effect is truly beautiful. My personal highlight is at the beginning of the second 'verse', for want of a better term, when the soprano starts to harmonise the mezzo line. In my mind's eye, I can see a bow shape being created as the vocal lines progress; the mezzo coming down, the soprano going up - creating a seamless overlap that gets me every time.

I also love this because a trio isn't something you get very often. We love our duets - or in Rossini our quintets and octets! And you can forget about 'The Three Tenors'...what about 'The Mezzo, Soprano, and Tenor'...hmm...not quite as catchy though.

Only a relatively short post for tonight I think...I fancy going to bed and watching Rosenkavalier...and we know that can't be done in a hurry.

"Fra il padre"

So, I decided against my first choice - the extract of 'Quant'e grato all'alma mia' - on this recording purely for the fact that I realised I'd heard it all before...kind of. The aria, composed before Barbiere or Cenerentola, contains extracts of (in)famous arias from both operas; 'Una voce poco fa' and 'Non piu mesta' respectively. Both of them I've tried...but I did the musical equivalent of 'dipping my toe in' and then quickly ran back to my Handel. In true opera composer style, Rossini robbed brilliant ideas from an opera that didn't do fantastically, and created two absolute monsters of the operatic repertoire. Legend.

Anyway, enough of that; on to "Fra il padre", which I've been obsessively, incessantly humming for about 3 days. I apologise profusely to anyone who I've been around, as it can't be all that fun to have my constant trilling worming into your poor little ears...

The repeating woodwind theme, that first makes an appearance at the very beginning of this piece, is the cheeky little melody thats been on 'replay' in my mind. I must have listened to this 20 second section more times than Rossini himself, purely to hear the octave piccolo (I think/hope) which makes me want to nod my head in time. Much of Rossini's composition is so fiercely rhythmic, and, for me at least, this piece is just such a wonderful example of that signature style; no one else could have composed it. Perhaps if I listen to this in the car, and people see me nodding, they'll think I'm listening to hiphop, and my social status will take a sudden climb...maybe something to try!

I'm slightly suspicious of Rossini and his apparent use of the 19th Century equivalent of 'cut and paste' on the massive virtuosic vocal passages that are apparent in so many of his real 'finale' type arias. However, credit where credit's due - the guy's pretty talented at conveying emotion. In the slightly less crazy quasi-arioso, 'Tanti affetti', directly before 'Fra il padre', Elena, the titular Lady of the Lake, is singing about the multitude of emotions that are 'crowding [her] heart' and the 'immensity of [her] hapiness' that she 'cannot express'; well, I'd beg to differ. The coloratura in the aria itself seem to me the perfect representation and expression of a racing heart, overflowing with feelings that literally run away with her, vocally and emotionally. The finale of the piece, where the orchestra comes in with a bang, and the vocal rhythm suddenly pulls out and stretches just like elastic is truly majestic- with Joyce DiDonato's voice soaring high above the rest.

As for Ms. DiDonato...I have no words! Well maybe a few - That voice is out of this world. That's all bases covered I'd say? 'They' say that Isabella Colbran, Rossini's muse, must have possessed an unbelievable voice, or at the very least, been a truly convincing actress, to sing all of the parts that Rossini wrote for her. Joyce would have kicked her butt any day. The CD is a triumph, and by far the best christmas present I got this year, from one of my precious few friends who can truly sympathise with my inner geek.

Dear Lord, I pray that one day I'll be able to sing Rossini. I pray that I don't continue to sound like a varying range of strangled animals when attempting the 16th notes. I pray that I'll be able to find somewhere to breath in between said 16th notes. I pray that somehow, somewhere, I'll be able to sing his music at faster than half speed. Amen.

"Cantique de Jean Racine"

I can't wait to sing this. Suggested as the 'big push' for our rapidly improving (and growing) school choir, Fauré's "Cantique de Jean Racine" could be brilliant. If we pull if off of course...

I laughed at my pitiful attempts in harmony class upon hearing this fantastic choral piece. The rich harmonies of "Cantique de Jean Racine" just scream 'DO ME JUSTICE AND GET AN OBSCENELY LARGE CHOIR TO SING ME'. My initial laughter was then quickly replaced by utter disbelief when I learnt that Mr. Gabriel Fauré was a mere 2 years older than myself (19) when he composed this whilst at the École Niedermeyer. That, to me, is simultaneously amazing and soul destroying...

Fauré influenced the teaching of harmony so strongly during 20th Century; and this is just a lesson in how to do it. But the great thing about it is that no chord seems fashioned - everything seems to come from the composers heart. Anyone can put pen to paper to a certain extent, but I fully believe that composers are born to be composers.

[Just want to put in a quick note on the text, courtesy of Jean Racine himself, before we get onto the hardcore stuff. The text of course is wonderful; and as a French student I am particularly happy to see 'nous rompons' in there - as perhaps the best sounding of all French verbs :)]

Firstly, if I was a man, I'd be a Bass. There's nothing better, or more manly, than a good bass in choir. It doesn't even have to be a good bass...any bass will do! So I was delighted when I heard the manly solo entrance to this piece; imitatively working upwards until the soaring sopranos come in. Though despite the fact that every choir member was involved, the gentle dynamics made it just encapsulate 'peace'. Peace :) that's what was the overwhelming feeling of this.

For me, this is like a wave, moving in and out with dynamic change and phrase structure. Just when you think that gentle piano is here to stay, it swells with fabulously built up crescendo; and Fauré does this build up so eloquently. The alto/tenor/bass lines remind me of the strength and grace of a cello (the best instrument on Gods earth) as they glide over crotches underneath the soprano's held dotted minim; this just pulling the listener towards the soaring release on 'divin sauver' (the video clip has the music so you can see what the hell I'm going on about!).

The structure sounds a bit like ABA, and before returning to the beautiful first melody, Fauré makes a bigger scale wave; section B being a stronger force than soft section A. The texture changes slightly here too...it's never completely homorythmic - but the rich harmonies are brought out more as they move at pretty much the same time. Imitative entrances and a key change put me on edge a bit, before coming back to section A, which was like slipping into a lovely warm bath (with candles!).

Urgh I've changed that last paragraph at least 8 times...it was horrific; I imagine reading version 1 would have been like wading through very boring, slightly scientific, not very interesting treacle...whatever that's like. I apologise :)

I just love this. It's beautiful. The end :)

As an added note; Handel's Messiah arrived in the post this morning...all 256 pages...lets get learning :)

Tomorrow: A beautiful setting of 'Ubi Caritas'

"Vieni, ah! vieni, in me riposa"

Though this may not technically be anything new for me, hopefully it's obscure enough to deserve a place on this page...plus, I thought it would be nice to ease in gently with the piece responsible for turning me into the opera fiend that I am today.

"Vieni, ah! vieni, in me riposa" appears around about the end of Act 1 of this two act opera, when Romeo is desperately trying to persuade Juliet to elope with him...her...him. In one of the last great 'trouser roles' ever written, the mezzo-soprano singing Romeo is given the chance to really shine, as the vocal lines of the two women intertwine and swap over so beautifully. Elina Garanca has the perfect voice for this - her tone steely and silvery, giving her a vocally masculine edge over the warmth and richness which is so often associated with mezzos. Garanca's managed to captivate us with her Romeo and her Carmen - two completely different roles which traditionally require completely different vocal colours - the woman's a complete legend.

Anyway, back to the actual point of this post. The part of this duet that really gets me is right towards the end, in the call and answer, fabulously punctuated by the snappy orchestra. You never know who is more desperate...Romeo or Juliet? That, teamed with beautiful harmony throughout and heart-rending solo sections, makes this just divine, and a definite highlight from a wonderful opera :) I could talk about it all day...but lucky for you, I wont!

Though I fell in love with the Elina Garanca/Anna Netrebko rendition, I thought this example from Ravenna Festival was great...even though I was somewhat distracted by Romeo's Robin Hood-esque get up and matching afro. My only reservation would be the tempo in the call and answer, feeling it dragged slightly - but that's just me being picky I think!

The more I listen to Bellini's masterpiece, the more difficult it is to believe that I Capuleti E I Montecchi isn't a staple of the operatic repertoire. Lets face it, you can't go wrong with the story - but Bellini made it his own. There are great contrasts all the way through; with the rhythmic strength and pleading of "Vieni..." against the morbidezza in the final scene which is simply heart breaking...yes, I am extraordinarily sad and cry every time I hear it :)

Tomorrow: Olivier Messiaen's "Poemes pour Mi"