The Sixteen continues its exploration of Henry Purcell’s Welcome Songs for Charles II. As with Robert King’s pioneering Purcell series begun over thirty years ago for Hyperion, Harry Christophers is recording two Welcome Songs per disc.
In February this year, Albanian soprano Ermonela Jaho made a highly lauded debut recital at Wigmore Hall - a concert which both celebrated Opera Rara’s 50th anniversary and honoured the career of the Italian soprano Rosina Storchio (1872-1945), the star of verismo who created the title roles in Leoncavallo’s La bohème and Zazà, Mascagni’s Lodoletta and Puccini’s Madama Butterfly.
Collapsology. Or, perhaps we should use the French word ‘Collapsologie’ because this is a transdisciplinary idea pretty much advocated by a series of French theorists - and apparently, mostly French theorists. It in essence focuses on the imminent collapse of modern society and all its layers - a series of escalating crises on a global scale: environmental, economic, geopolitical, governmental; the list is extensive.
Amongst an avalanche of new Mahler recordings appearing at the moment (Das Lied von der Erde seems to be the most favoured, with three) this 1991 Mahler Second from the 2nd Kassel MahlerFest is one of the more interesting releases.
If there is one myth, it seems believed by some people today, that probably needs shattering it is that post-war recordings or performances of Wagner operas were always of exceptional quality. This 1949 Hamburg Tristan und Isolde is one of those recordings - though quite who is to blame for its many problems takes quite some unearthing.
The voices of six women composers are celebrated by baritone Jeremy Huw Williams and soprano Yunah Lee on this characteristically ambitious and valuable release by Lontano Records Ltd (Lorelt).
As Paul Spicer, conductor of the Royal Birmingham Conservatoire Chamber Choir, observes, the worship of the Blessed Virgin Mary is as ‘old as Christianity itself’, and programmes devoted to settings of texts which venerate the Virgin Mary are commonplace.
Ethel Smyth’s last large-scale work, written in 1930 by the then 72-year-old composer who was increasingly afflicted and depressed by her worsening deafness, was The Prison – a ‘symphony’ for soprano and bass-baritone soloists, chorus and orchestra.
‘Hamilton Harty is Irish to the core, but he is not a musical nationalist.’
‘After silence, that which comes closest to expressing the inexpressible is music.’ Aldous Huxley’s words have inspired VOCES8’s new disc, After Silence, a ‘double album in four chapters’ which marks the ensemble’s 15th anniversary.
A song-cycle is a narrative, a journey, not necessarily literal or linear, but one which carries performer and listener through time and across an emotional terrain. Through complement and contrast, poetry and music crystallise diverse sentiments and somehow cohere variability into an aesthetic unity.
One of the nicest things about being lucky enough to enjoy opera, music and theatre, week in week out, in London’s fringe theatres, music conservatoires, and international concert halls and opera houses, is the opportunity to encounter striking performances by young talented musicians and then watch with pleasure as they fulfil those sparks of promise.
“It’s forbidden, and where’s the art in that?”
Dublin-born John F. Larchet (1884-1967) might well be described as the father of post-Independence Irish music, given the immense influenced that he had upon Irish musical life during the first half of the 20th century - as a composer, musician, administrator and teacher.
The English Civil War is raging. The daughter of a Puritan aristocrat has fallen in love with the son of a Royalist supporter of the House of Stuart. Will love triumph over political expediency and religious dogma?
Beethoven Symphony no 9 (the Choral Symphony) in D minor, Op. 125, and the Choral Fantasy in C minor, Op. 80 with soloist Kristian Bezuidenhout, Pablo Heras-Casado conducting the Freiburger Barockorchester, new from Harmonia Mundi.
A Louise Brooks look-a-like, in bobbed black wig and floor-sweeping leather trench-coat, cheeks purple-rouged and eyes shadowed in black, Barbara Hannigan issues taut gestures which elicit fire-cracker punch from the Mahler Chamber Orchestra.
‘Signor Piatti in a fantasia on themes from Beatrice di Tenda had also his triumph. Difficulties, declared to be insuperable, were vanquished by him with consummate skill and precision. He certainly is amazing, his tone magnificent, and his style excellent. His resources appear to be inexhaustible; and altogether for variety, it is the greatest specimen of violoncello playing that has been heard in this country.’
Baritone Roderick Williams seems to have been a pretty constant ‘companion’, on my laptop screen and through my stereo speakers, during the past few ‘lock-down’ months.
Melodramas can be a difficult genre for composers. Before Richard Strauss’s Enoch Arden the concept of the melodrama was its compact size – Weber’s Wolf’s Glen scene in Der Freischütz, Georg Benda’s Ariadne auf Naxos and Medea or even Leonore’s grave scene in Beethoven’s Fidelio.
Last year was the 60th anniversary of Mascagni’s death. When I wrote a big commemoration article for a Dutch operatic magazine, I wondered if we would ever hear a full version of the 18-year old Mascagni’s first work: a cantata called “in the weaving mill.”
And lo and behold, the Bolognese firm of Bongiovanni, itself celebrating its 100th anniversary, has been so nice to record a performance given a few years ago that to my best knowledge had not found its way in the pirate circuit.
The liner notes (Italian/English) tell in great detail the genesis of the work and are well worth reading. They omit, however, the story that young Mascagni thought himself a genius à la Mozart who had nothing more to learn. He dedicated the piece to Amilcare Ponchielli and happily accepted the elder composer’s invitation to come to Milan. To his dismay, Mascagni found out that nobody was eagerly awaiting for the appearance of an Italian equivalent of Wagner, Beethoven and Weber in one person. Though Ponchielli, a professor at the conservatory, acknowledged Mascagni’s talent, he was not ready to introduce him to music publishers, but had only thought of enrolling the young man in his alma mater. Within a few months, a disillusioned Mascagni went home only to return half a year later, ready after all to go the long hard way and start with his formal studies.
The reason for Mascagni’s conceit was that In Filanda that had been performed in his home town Livorno (Leghorn) with resounding success, probably helped a lot by the generous financing of his uncle Stefano. Would Bongiovanni have thought of resuscitating this 47-minute cantata if the composer had been called Bizelli, Bossi, Brero, Bucceri or other worthies who once tried to compose operas without any success? Probably not, as this is clearly a work by a talented young man but not more. Is there anything distinctly Mascagnian to the score? Yes, the young man already knows how to write a tune that vaguely hints at post-Cavalleria operas like the still unjustly neglected masterpieces, Zanetto and Silvano. Interesting, too, are the fine chorus for the workers that points a little to the famous “Gli aranci olezzano” and two preludes that are intermezzi in reality. The big tenor solo was the most successful part at the time of the première; but it sounds a little too laboured to me. And the finale concertato is just bombast. Contrary to Puccini, Mascagni was very young when he saw a lot of performances in the local opera houses (courtesy of his uncle too) and, though he somewhat later called Wagner the pope of all composers, it is clear he was far more influenced by some Verdi (end of the second act of Traviata) and Ponchielli concertati (end of the third act of Gioconda). Years later Mascagni would use some of this music for a first opera, Pinotta, that went unperformed until almost fifty years later when old Mascagni, despised by his modernist rivals and without inspiration, sent the opera on its unsuccessful way. Therefore, not a masterwork or even an important piece of work; but, as with everything from young Mascagni, worth hearing as the composer is never boring.
Orchestra and conductor are fine and so are soprano and baritone. Tenor Antonio De Palma though won’t be to everybody’s taste. He clearly has a big, somewhat beefy, voice with strong top notes that happen to flatten now and then. But, unless you are an adamant fan of verismo-tenors like Nicola Zerola, Giovanni Chiaia or Vittorio Lois, I fear De Palma’s rough style will make you less than happy. This is evidently not Bongiovanni’s fault. Many of their worthwhile sets with real discoveries in the verismo repertory are hampered by singers who are not equal to the role; but, nowadays, the very few singers who can cope with this repertory won’t think of studying difficult parts for a single performance that is almost a world première at a fee that mostly consists in honour only. So the Bolognese firm often has to take whomever is willing to sing it.
As 47 minutes is short shrift, there are two bonuses. The first one is the magnificent, melodious intermezzo from Mascagni’s second opera, Guglielmo Ratcliff (premièred, however, several years after Cavalleria) and it proves how much the composer had refined his art in the two and a half years at the conservatory. It was his undoing, too, as conductor Franco Faccio was much impressed with the score and wanted to perform it during a La Scala concert. Students had to ask permission at the conservatory to have their music performed unless they chose a pseudonym (Pigmeo Sarcanti was Mascagni’s ridiculous choice for some of his café compositions). But Faccio insisted on the real name, the conservatory refused permission and Mascagni left for good in a towering rage to start his wandering years. A second bonus is one of the composer’s finest pieces: intermezzo and tenor aria from Silvano, once only known in the truncated version by Enzo De Muro Lomanto; but currently available in a complete recording of the opera. It is a hauntingly beautiful melody that would have been in any tenor’s repertory if the opera had become more popular; and I fear that Mr. De Palma’s somewhat rough style doesn’t fit completely with the unearthly melancholy.
Jan Neckers