Teatro Grattacielo's Opera in Concert for 2011

While all the details aren't in yet, Teatro Grattacielo has announced that next year's opera-in-concert will be a double bill of one-acts: "Il Re" by Umberto Giordano and "I Compagnacci", a very seldom heard work of Italian composer Primo Riccitelli.


Both operas are available on CD, and as was done last year, the libretto will be posted online at www.grattacielo.org. Sign up for the newsletter, follow us on Twitter and keep watching our blog for more information as cast, time and place become definite.


More on Riccitelli and I Compagnacci in Italian here.
More information on Il Re and Giordano here.

Zandonai and his Ilk

It has struck me more than once that opera composer Riccardo Zandonai's last librettist was named after one of my literary namesakes, Emilio Mucci; I have actually found a recording (on Columbia) of a song for which he was the lyricist that I will have to do more research on. But Zandonai is one of those maverick composers who stubbornly refuses to be appreciated by the public, especially in America. His work was, during his lifetime, well-received and promulgated throughout Europe. He wrote 12 operas, the last one sadly left unfinished. Today if anyone knows of him, it is for Francesca da Rimini, a hugely romantic work with libretto by no less than Gabriele D'Annunzio. And while I think this is a lovely piece that should be performed more often, Zandonai was not the one-opera kind of guy. His work is enormously varied, always entertaining, often quite moving. Moreso, his sense of theater is unique in the veristic composers: quite often they were terrific technicians, but once seen on the stage, required the audience to linger in attention in order to savor the emotional kernels that lurk within.
A recent discovery for me was receiving a photocopy of the score to his opera Giuliano, (his eighth opera, from 1928). This is a mature work, written after the operas Zandonistas crave (I Cavalieri di Ekebú, Francesca), yet no one has performed it much at all since the première. In essence, it was one of the few bombs he wrote. I had always assumed that it was a story about the Emperor Julian (known as the Apostate: after all, the subject of Ibsen's play Emperor & Galilean; the terrific novel Julian by Gore Vidal; the opera Der Apostat (1924) by the composer and conductor Felix Weingartner; even The Death of the Gods (Julian the Apostate) (1895) by the Russian Symbolist poet, Dmitri Merezhkovsky—were all examples). However, reading through the music, nothing in it seemed to say anything about ancient Rome or apostasy or Gore Vidal. Astonishingly enough, it turns out that this opera by Zandonai is based on the tale of Saint Julien, known not as the Apostate, but "L'Hospitalier", subject of a story by Flaubert, which in turn was based on works by Jacobus de Voragine, a 13th century Italian chronicler and archbishop of Genoa. This story was also subject of an opera written in 1888 by Camille Erlanger, with the same title as the Flaubert story, "La légende de Saint Julien, l'Hospitalier."
Giuliano was actually dear to the composer's heart, and he was terribly disappointed that the Ricordi, his publisher, did not promote it well, nor the opera houses perform it frequently, nor the public clamor for it. However, it was anomalous for Zandonai in that the original cast recorded three selections from it. Very little of Zandonai's arias were recorded at all, even Francesca, nonetheless from more obscure works. And I suppose I tip my cards here, because the composer really was more of an Italian Wagnerista in many ways; he didn't write arias, and his extended scenes were difficult to chop up and record in any case. Even Pietro Mascagni had that problem, with very few recordings made the more his works became music-dramas rather than number-operas.
The other odd thing about the Giuliano recordings is that Zandonai apparently detested them. This I do not understand. While they do exhibit that flat sound of 1920s recordings, this was made after 1923, so that they used microphones, and the audio response was quite good; the performances sound exciting and extremely dramatic to me. Exactly what Zandonai was complaining about I cannot say, but apparently he went to some lengths to see that Columbia didn't distribute them: whether he asked to have them destroyed is something I've heard, but cannot say for sure that he'd do; or if Columbia would comply (after all, revenue is revenue). However, even from such a distance of time, you'll see how interesting they are...
The three numbers recorded were:

1. "La Voce Horrenda" from The Prologue
2. "Non ho che un Nome (Love Duet)" from Act 1 (double side)
3. "La Dolce Nienta" from Act 2

Notice that there is a Prologue, Two Acts, and an Epilogue, even though it is quite a short opera to have such grand appendages. The first number is sung by Francesco Merli, the second is the love duet with Merli and Rosetta Pampanini (see below>, and the soprano has the last piece solo.

Looking for Operatic Subtlety, Go Elsewhere!

With those words, Anthony Tommasini, venerated music critic for the New York Times put his finger on one aspect of the tremendous reception given to I Gioielli della Madonna on Monday night, 5-24. What a wonderful audience! What a tremendous event. Thanks to the very hard work of over 200 performers, led by the irrepressible David Wroe, I Gioielli really took the audience by storm. Right from the opening bars, with the hundreds of chorus members ranged on 3 floors of boxes above the orchestra, a chorus of children, a mandolin/guitar ensemble, soloists joyously pealing vocally over the top of it all - percussion, brass, strings, woodwinds - it was as though all of creation were singing.

Theatre Business, Management of Men

Those words come from a famous quote by Yeats, who was busy keeping the Abbey Theater together in Dublin. These days it would be looked upon as mysogynistic and sweeping. But ask Duane Printz what it's like to almost single-handedly raise the money and deal with all the daily trials it takes to put on an opera. Who was it said that 'it's a super-human thing to write a symphony'? (That one was referring to Beethoven.) But it is just as super-human, that is, beyond most people's capacity, to wear so many hats, be so many personae, to make so many decisions, sometimes with the implication of the outcome not at all clear, hoping that it will all come together at the last minute. Teatro Grattacielo's last production was fraught with cancellations, last-minute substitutions, illness, family problems, as was fervidly covered by Anthony Tommasini in the New York Times. But the production of Il Piccolo Marat was tremendous. The very wigs of some of the audience were blown straight back by the sheer force of nature that the opera brought to the hall, with unfamiliar music that was stirring, enormous, vital. Maestro David Wroe was in command of the forces that evening, as he will be on the 24th of this month when I Gioielli della Madonna bows at the Rose Theater in Columbus Circle at 8 pm. That opera will have similar if not larger forces, and should prove to be a marvellous evening. We all know that the powerhouse that is Duane Printz, founder, artistic director of Teatro Grattacielo, will not fail the operagoing public. The question that remains, is simply how do we make sure that everyone knows about it who'd be interested in coming to see it?

You are urged to pass along all the information you can about it - subscribe to us on Twitter, this blog, the eNewsletter, and pass the along to your friends who love opera. Because this one is one for the real, the true, the ever-faithful admirers of opera. It is an ongoing task to reach that opening (and closing!) night, a labor of love. To conflate Yeats and Frances Alda, Opera Business is the business of Men, Women, and Tenors.

Complexity and Simplicity

Looking at the score of "I Gioielli della Madonna" one is struck by the enormous complexity to it at times. From the opening bars, it is chaos unleashed. Street vendors in Naples are shouting out their wares for sale, children are passing, choruses of townsfolk are commenting, Greek-chorus-like in the manner that all opening choruses act, a piper is piping, mandolins erratically enter and disappear. Truly it is a musical collage that fits together roughly with great effectiveness. If you can read music, take a look at the score, here (click on the bottom snippet to launch), and see what I mean.

And yet if you look at it, it's not the Schoenberg or Boulez manner of being complex. The meter is steady; the rhythms fit together well; it has 'windows' of visibility in it so that the layers can be heard. Very skillfully done. Then it all thins out when soloists come in, and lo and behold, there is a theme we hear! A theme that comes back again and again during the opera, which binds it all together. A simple, falling theme the kind of which has been known and loved since the days of Mozart.

Many of the canzones in the opera are ultra-simplistic: little waltzes, stornellos, serenades, many of which might have stepped from an operetta or an opéra-comique. Jostled side by side, it makes for an even more terrifying story. So much horror beside such common, quotidian melodies. It makes one very uncomfortable.

The ending, during which Gennaro commits suicide on stage with a knife he finds among scattered detritus on the floor, is accompanied by a celeste--the sunbeams falling on the jewels, on the Madonna. Enough to make you shudder.

I Gioielli will be performed by Teatro Grattacielo this month, on May 24th at the Rose Theater. You should go see it - there's only one performance, and it hasn't been performed in NY since 1926.

Intermezzi

In I Gioielli della Madonna there are two Intermezzi, one of which is torn from the material of the rest of the score, the other as though it were a piece from his trunk. Not that either one is inappropriate, but these Intermezzi were a feature of verismo operas, rather like the ballet in French opera. The first and most famous (discounting Carmen and La Traviata, of course), was that from Cavalleria Rusticana, Mascagni's 1890 shot over the bow for realism. That intermezzo had been written in 1888, two years before the opera was composed, but Mascagni had seen the Verga play in 1884 - and may have considered setting it as far back as that date. However, in the manuscript of the earlier intermezzo to Cav, which does differ slightly from the published version, it says as a tempo marking "imitating the prayer" - referring to the "Regina Coeli" ensemble of which this intermezzo is a reminiscence. So literally, did Mascagni write the intermezzo first and then retrofit everything else around it? Not unheard of.

In Wolf-Ferrari's case, there is no evidence that the slower intermezzo was written earlier, but it sounds as though it were referring to something else altogether. There are several YouTube versions of it. The Serenata Intermezzo which imitates not the prayer, but the ribald serenade that Rafaele sings to Maliella in the second act of the opera, seems more at home in the score, but is evocative in a playful way that seems to say that the composer is taking the side of the ruffian, not the moral center of the drama. That version is also rife on the Tube. (Thinking back to Bizet, it is hard not to compare this piece with one of the last Entrac'tes in Carmen, even down to the last two notes.) Perhaps each intermezzo is, then, a reflection of the characters in the opera, the men who are keen on gaining the attentions of Maliella.

Were there any doubt that the opera has moments of orchestral brilliance, there is also a Camorrist dance -- think of that, a sort of mafioso apache dance--that keeps the excitement up. Again, on line. Tell me that first part of it doesn't sound like it came from a draft of Carmen! (You may feel, 'all this needs is a tambourine' -- you don't have long to wait.)

Well, let us hope that the audience doesn't agree with the characters that sing in La Bohème, "Quest'intermezzi me fai morrir d'inedia."

The New Life of Wolf-Ferrari

"The works of Wolf-Ferrari have become, for quite some time now, superfluous, prey to the passage of time. It is useless to define him, as his faithful student Adriano Lualdi (1885-1971) did, as "the man most unadapted to earthly realities…a nostalgic by nature of pure, uncontaminated creativity" in order to rescue his works from the severe judgment of 20th century criticism that, for its part, did not understand how or where to place the works of a composer who confessed to have lived as a child until the age of 40..." Carlo Todeschi's comments on the composer of "I Gioielli della Madonna," which we will perform the end of next month, are all too true when one considers WF's huge popularity in his day, and the almost total neglect of his work in the 21st century (a neglect that began 50 years before).

His cantata "La Vita Nuova"--a quirky work--(you can see the score here)--was performed throughout Europe to great acclaim, and was even performed at the Metropolitan Opera in January 28, 1912, not without some contention. It seems that the 'MacDowell Chorus' was going to perform the U.S. premiere, but once the Met announced its intentions, they pulled out, leaving the road clear for the bigger brother to show off: - but the ace in the hole, of course, was the cast, with Alma Gluck and Pasquale Amato leading the way, and none other than Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari conducting, his only appearance at the Met. The reviews were lavish, although the language was rather equivocating:

"Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari's cantata "La Vita Nuova," founded upon Dante's text, was given at the Metropolitan Opera House last evening before an audience that crowded the building to its utmost capacity. And although the work is not one that might be expected to appeal strongly to the audiences frequenting the Sunday-night performances at the Opera House, it gave an evident artistic pleasure."

Wolf-Ferrari, for all the ferocious music heard in "I Gioielli della Madonna", as you will hear on May 24th, was a quiet fellow who had a rather delicate constitution. There is a story about him at a rehearsal of the overture to "Il Campiello" during which he painfully asked the violas to play quieter. He stopped the next time round and asked them very softly to play quieter still. I know this sounds like a 'viola joke' but finally the performers simply moved their bows and played nothing at all, and Wolf-Ferrari said that that was fine, but he hoped that during the performance they would play even more quietly.