Oberon's Grove

Rainbow

Blanche Thebom

Blanche Thebom (above), the glamorous mezzo-soprano whose career at The Met lasted over 30 years, was as well-known for her magnetic stage presence and her sensationally long hair as for her singing.

She made her debut with the Metropolitan Opera Company in 1944 as Brangaene in TRISTAN UND ISOLDE in a performance at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; two weeks later, she sang Fricka in DIE WALKURE at The Met. These performances drew rave reviews for Ms. Thebom, both for her singing and for her distinctive beauty and dramatic flair.

Ms. Thebom went on to sing more that 360 performances with the Metropolitan Opera Company, in New York and on tour. She was a much-admired Carmen and Dalila, and in Verdi she made a regal impression as Amneris and Princess Eboli. She seemed capable of singing anything, from Adalgisa in NORMA to Venus in TANNHAUSER, while - in a lighter vein - she appeared as Prince Orlofsky and as Dorbella in COSI FAN TUTTE.

Above: Blanche Thebom as Princess Eboli

Blanche Thebom - O don fatale ~ DON CARLO

Ms. Thebom appeared in the US premieres of two important works at The Met: as Baba the Turk in Stravinsky's RAKE'S PROGRESS in 1953, and as Adelaide in Strauss's ARABELLA in 1955. In the 1960s, she undertook what might be called "principal character" roles such as Genevieve in PELLEAS ET MELISANDE, Magdalene in MEISTERSINGER, and the Old Baroness in VANESSA. Her last role was that of the Countess in Tchaikovsky's QUEEN OF SPADES - performed in English, at the New Met - in which she appeared opposite Teresa Stratas and Jon Vickers.

After retiring from the Met, Blanche Thebom taught singing and also served on the Metropolitan Opera's Board of Directors until 2008. She passed away in 2010, at the age of 94.

In my earliest days of opera-loving, Blanche Thebom was already spoken of in our house. My father, who had seen her on TV, referred to her as 'Blanche the Bomb' due to her physical allure. And my grandmother told me about Thebom's legendary hair, which had been used as a dramatic device when she sang Berlioz's Dido at Covent Garden in 1957 (photo above).

I finally heard Thebom's voice on the radio in 1962:

Metropolitan Opera House
December 29th, 1962 Matinee/Broadcast

PELLÉAS ET MÉLISANDE

Pelléas.................Nicolai Gedda
Mélisande...............Anna Moffo
Golaud..................George London
Arkel...................Jerome Hines
Geneviève...............Blanche Thebom
Yniold..................Teresa Stratas
Physician...............Clifford Harvuot
Shepherd................William Walker

Conductor...............Ernest Ansermet

Listening to her sing Debussy's  Genevieve on a Texaco broadcast of PELLEAS ET MELISANDE, I was well-prepared to like her. And like her I did, so much so that I wrote her a letter; soon after, I received this elegant reply:

More samplings of Blanche Thebom's singing below. In RHEINGOLD, her usual role was Fricka, but I'm partial to her recording of Erda's Warning:

Blanche Thebom - Weiche Wotan weiche! ~ RHEINGOLD

Blanche Thebom - Mon coeur s´ouvre a ta vois ~ SAMSON & DALILA

Blanche Thebom - Wolf ~ Um Mitternacht

~ Oberon

Zlatomir Fung @ XVI Tchaikovsky Competition

Zlatomir Fung (above, in a Matt Dine photo) has won First Prize in the cello division at the 2019 Tchaikovsky Competition. Established in 1958, and held every four years in Moscow and St. Petersburg, the Competition has - over time - added categories of cello and voice to the initial competitions for pianists and violinists.

Earlier this year, I had the great pleasure of attending Mr. Fung's New York recital debut under the auspices of Young Concert Artists.  It was an outstanding evening of music-making, and it did not surprise me in the least to learn today that the young cellist has seized the top prize at the Tchaikovsky: he's simply phenomenal.

Mr. Fung and pianist Tengku Irfan played Gabriel Fauré's Après un rêve as an encore at their Merkin Hall YCA recital in February of this year. Listen to it here.

~ Oberon

Catherine Gallant ~ Escape From the House of Mercy

Above: dancer Cecily Placenti

On Thursday and Friday, June 27th and 28th, 2019, Catherine Gallant/DANCE present ESCAPE FROM THE HOUSE OF MERCY on Pat's Lawn at Inwood Hill Park. Detailed information about these performances - and the story behind the dancework - may be found here.

An excerpt from ESCAPE FROM THE HOUSE OF MERCY was presented at the Baruch Performing Arts Center in April; it was at that time that I learned about the institution for which the dancework is named - the House of Mercy - and that it was located just a few blocks from where I live, up here at the Northern tip of Manhattan.

Under the guise of caring for young women who had gone astray, places like the House of Mercy were modeled on the Magdalen Laundries created by the Catholic Church in Ireland. Essentially they were prisons, where the 'inmates' worked long hours doing laundry, wardened by nuns who resorted to cruel punishments to enforce discipline among their charges.

Ms. Gallant told me that the site of the House of Mercy was off the beaten path where I often take my daily hikes: the trail that leads up from Inwood Hill Park, under the Henry Hudson Bridge, and down to the banks of the Hudson River. In such a place, the girls would have been truly isolated from the world. The House of Mercy was demolished in 1933; in Ireland, apparently, such places existed until the 1990s.

On Tuesday, June 25th, a dress rehearsal for the presentation took place on Pat's Lawn. I went over to observe; at first there was a feeling of chaos as other events in the park distracted from the matter at hand. But soon things settled in, and I was able to take a few pictures.

An instrumental ensemble, led by trumpeter Kevin Blanq, perform New Orleans funeral songs and music by Lisa Bielawa live. Their instruments seem to have stories of their own to tell.

Above: dancer Jessie King and tuba player Kenny Bentley.

Ivana Drazic designed the costumes, which have the look of petticoats, old work clothes, and aprons.

Jessie King

Cecily Placenti, Halley Gerstel

Abra Cohen

Megan Minturn

Abra Cohen

Charlotte Hendrickson, Kelli Chapman

Halley Gerstel, Abra Cohen

Jessie King, Megan Minturn

Kelli, Halley, Abra, Megan, Charlotte, Cecily

Cecily Placenti

Charlotte Hendrickson, Halley Gerstel

Cecily Placenti

Megan, Cecily, Abra

Halley Gerstel

The dancers are: Kelli Chapman, Abra Cohen, Halley Gerstel, Jessie King, Charlotte Hendrickson, Erica Lessner, Megan Minturn, and Cecly Placenti

The musicians are: Kevin Blancq (group leader/trumpet), Scott Bourgeois (tenor sax), Rick Faulkner (trombone), Kenny Bentley (tuba), Moses Patrou (snare drum), and Connor Elmes (bass drum)

~ Oberon

Die Meistersinger von Hamburg ~ 1970

Above: Giorgio Tozzi as Hans Sachs and Richard Cassilly as Walther von Stoltzing

Author: Oberon

I plucked a DVD of Wagner's Die Meistersinger off the shelf at the Library of the Performing Arts; it was described as a "studio production from the Hamburg State Opera, 1970". I had no idea what to expect, but I ended up really loving it.

Purists will kvetch over the fact that about 25 minutes of music has been cut, including parts of David's long monolog in Act I and the Apprentices Dance in Act III. The cuts were apparently made so as to conform to the four hours allotted for a television presentation. Since the David is very fine, and since the overall performance is excellent, it's too bad that the cuts had to be made. They did not, however, affect my great enjoyment of the performance.

Sets are 'suggested' rather than built. The opera is fully staged, in appropriate costumes; the singers appear to be lip-syncing to a pre-made recording, and they all do a splendid job of it...so good, in fact, that you can't really tell. 

Leopold Ludwig leads a stylish reading of the overture; throughout the performance, he sets perfect tempi and ideally balances the comedy and chaos against the intimacy, passion, and humanity that pervade this marvelous opera.

The filming makes us part of the action. In Act I, the lively apprentices tease David whilst setting up for the meeting of the Masters: we are part of their work and their play. The apprentices, by the way, are a handsome bunch of boys, each with his own personality. In live performances, petite women from the chorus are sometimes pressed into service in this ensemble group, so as to sing the higher-lying phrases. Here, the boys seem to tackle those lines in falsetto.

Once the masters have convened, we are right in the thick of their debates: the camera sweeps and zooms in as opinions are expressed and reactions are caught on film. An expert bunch of singing-actors, we get a vivid feeling of each Master as an individual. And later, we even go inside the Marker's curtained booth as Walther von Stoltzing sings his heart out in his trial song...to no avail.

The conversations, comings and goings, furtive lovers' meetings, and Beckmesser's silly serenade (mistaking 'Lene for Eva) in Act II lead up to a convincingly bumptious "riot". In Act III, the intimate scene of Sachs urging Stolzing onward in the composing of the "Prize Song", and of Beckmesser's pilfering of said song, and of the blessèd joy of the great quintet, gives way to the meadow on St. John's Day - a vast space with only a gallery for the Masters, a chair for Eva, and the platform from which the "Prize Song" becomes an immortal melody. The triumph of true love is celebrated by all.

The cast is superb in every regard. Each singer has the measure of his or her role, both vocally and in characterization. There's little in terms of theatricality to come between us and these folks as real townspeople, and the story unfolds with complete naturalness.

Giorgio Tozzi is for me simply a perfect Hans Sachs; he was, in fact, the very first singer I saw in this role at The Met in 1968. More than that, Tozzi played a huge part in my developing passion for opera: the first basso voice I came to love, his arias from NABUCCO and SIMON BOCCANEGRA were on the first operatic LP set I every acquired; he was Don Giovanni in the first opera I attended at the (Old) Met, and later he was my first Daland and Jacopo Fiesco. I saw Tozzi onstage for the last time as Oroveso in NORMA at Hartford, CT, in 1978; he was so vivid as the almost deranged high priest of the Druids.

Here in this MEISTERSINGER film, Tozzi (above) is everything I want in a Sachs: vocally at ease in every aspect of the wide-ranging music, his singing warm, his portrayal so human and so rich in detail. His two monologs (Flieder- and Wahn-) are beautifully sung and deeply felt, and his impassioned final address to the citizens of Nuremberg - a warning against the intrusion of foreign powers on their daily lives - rings true today. It is so pleasing to have Tozzi's magnificent Sachs preserved for the ages.

Arlene Saunders (above, as Eva) is another singer to whom I feel a strong attachment, as well as a sense of gratitude: over a span of time, I saw Ms. Saunders singing four vastly different roles, making a memorable impression in each. First was her Anne Trulove when the Hamburg Opera brought THE RAKE'S PROGRESS came to The Met in 1967; Ms. Saunders' pealing lyricism in her aria and 'cabaletta' left such a lovely impression. Later, she was a surprisingly thrilling Minnie in FANCIULLA DEL WEST at New York City Opera, a movingly vulnerable and hopeful Elsa in LOHENGRIN at Hartford's Bushnell Auditorium, and strikingly beautiful, touching, and wonderfully-sung Marschallin at Boston. 

In this Hamburg MEISTERSINGER, we first see Saunders' adorable face looking up from her prayer-book in church, secretly thrilled by the attention of the tall knight who is captivated by her. From there to the end, Ms. Saunders endears and charms us in every moment of the role of Eva.

Richard Cassilly (above, with Ms. Saunders as Eva) is an imposing and big-voiced Stolzing; he towers over his beloved Ev'chen, and indeed over most everyone in the film.  Often seeming stiff and dour, the tenor blossoms into smiles whenever Eva is near. The knight's pride, insecurity, and hopefulness are all expressed in Mr. Cassilly's acting; as to his singing, it is big, warm, and winning. The scene of the 'birth' of the "Prize Song" - and of Eva's hearing it for the first time - is very moving to an old romantic like myself.

Toni Blankenheim (above, with Giorgio Tozzi as Sachs at the end of Act I) scores in one of his greatest roles, Beckmesser. In the hands of such an imaginative singing-actor, this annoyingly vain character finally moves us in Blankenheim's portrayal of his defeat. The baritone also convinces us that he is actually playing the lute. (There is apparently a similar filmed production from Hamburg of Berg's WOZZECK with Blankenheim in the title-role and Sena Jurinac as Marie; I want to see it!)

Above: Gerhard Unger and Ursula Boese as David and Magdalene

Petite of build, tenor Gerhard Unger with his boyish face does not seem out of place among the apprentices. Unger is a first-rate, "voicey" character singer and an impetuous actor. As his slightly older betrothed, Magdalene, Ursula Boese is wise and warm-hearted whilst also being a sly conspirator in getting everything to go well for Eva and Stolzing. Both Unger and Boese sing very well indeed.

Basso Ernst Wiemann (above) sang nearly 75 performances at The Met from 1961 to 1969, including the roles of Fafner, Hunding, Hagen, the Commendatore, Rocco, King Henry, and Daland in broadcasts of these operas that I was hearing for the very first time. As Pogner in this film of MEISTERSINGER, Wiemann displays his ample, seasoned basso tones in a warmly paternal portrayal.

The one singer in a major role with whom I was totally unfamiliar is Hans-Otto Kloose (above), who plays an upbeat, gregarious Kothner. In both his portrayal and his singing, Mr. Kloose excels. He was a beloved member of the Hamburg State Opera ensemble for thirty years, starting in 1960, giving more than 1,800 performances with the Company. For all that, I cannot seem to find other samples of his singing.

The Meistersingers include both veterans and jünglings: among the latter, Franz Grundheber is an extremely handsome Hermann Ortel. As a final link among the singers in this film to some of my earliest operatic memories, Vladimir Ruzdak, who sang Valentin in my first FAUST at the Old Met, appears here as a baritonal Nightwatchman.

"All's well as ends better," as they say in The Shire. Sachs is crowned with a laurel wreath by Eva at the feast of St. John's Day in Olde Nürnberg.  

~ Oberon

Cardiff Singer of the World ~ 2019

Ukranian baritone Andrei Kymach (above, photo by Alexander Andryuschenko) is the 2019 Cardiff Singer of The World. En route to winning the title, Mr. Kymach gave this vibrant performance of Count Tomsky's narrative from Tchaikovsky's PIQUE DAME.

Mr. Kymach joins a list of illustrious singers who have claimed the Cardiff prize since the competition was founded in 1983 - among them: Karita Mattila, Dmitri Hvorostovsky, Katarina Karnéus, Anja Harteros, and Shenyang.

This year's winner of the Song Prize is Chinese tenor Mingjie Lei (hoisting his trophy, above, in a Kirstin McTernan photo). It was Sir Bryn Terfel who won the first Cardiff Song Prize, in 1989. Watch the 2019 Song Prize final round here.

Mingjie Lei was also a finalist in the main prize competition. 

Walter Morse Rummel

Above: Walter Morse Rummel

[Note: I am re-reading this fascinating book about a distant relative of mine who was an acclaimed concert pianist, the god-son of Mathilde Wesendonck, a student of Hans von Bülow, a friend of Debussy, and a lover of Isadora Duncan. The book has become even more intriguing for me since discovering another quite obscure - but delightful - connection in my extended family.]

Here is my original article:

It took me several readings of Isadora Duncan's biography over the years before it sank in that pianist Walter Morse Rummel and I are distantly related. Walter Morse Rummel's mother, Cornelia, was the daughter of Samuel F B Morse, inventor of the telegraph. My mother, Nancy Morse Gardner, also descends from Samuel F B Morse, and she sustained the connection by giving my brother Jeffrey the middle name Morse.

One aspect of Walter Morse Rummel's life that particularly intrigues me is his rather obscure but fascinating connection to Richard Wagner: for Rummel's god-mother was Mathilde Wesendonck (above), from whose poetry Wagner drew for his gorgeous Wesendonck Lieder. Details of the life of Mathilde Wesendonck were not widely known, but that situation has now been at least somewhat remedied by the appearance of this book. The exact nature of the relationship between Wagner and Mathilde - whether it was sexual or merely spiritual - is unclear, but their mutual interest was the proximate cause of Wagner's separation from his first wife.

But, back to the matter at hand: currently I am reading Prince of Virtuosos, a biography of Walter Morse Rummel by Charles Timbrell.

Walter Rummel was born in Germany in 1887.  His father was the then-well-known British pianist Franz Rummel, and his mother - as noted previously - was American. Walter studied piano first in Washington, DC, and thereafter in Berlin where he trained with Leopold Godowsky. Walter Rummel held American citizenship, although his career was entirely in Europe.

By 1908, Walter Rummel was in Paris, where he belonged to Debussy's inner circle. As a pianist, Rummel toured the countries of Europe, becoming well known for his cycles of 'one-composer' recitals which he repeated at many venues across the continent. He was especially admired for his Chopin and Liszt interpretations, though critics were divided sharply over his artistry. As a friend of Debussy, Rummel premiered ten of the composer's piano works. He performed as soloist under the baton of many famed conductors, including Felix Weingartner and Reynaldo Hahn. Renowned as a pianist of immense creative power, Rummel specialized in the music of J S Bach; he transcribed several cantatas by Bach, as well as many pieces by Bach's forerunners.

Charles Timbrell's book is thoroughly and lovingly researched, especially in its detailing of Walter Rummel's career as a major star in the pianistic firmament of his day: what he played - and where - is painstakingly cataloged. Against this factual background we read reviews of Rummel's performances that veer from lauds worthy of a god to stark dismissiveness. It's seems clear that Rummel was an erratic performer, which accounts for the wide range of critical reactions; audiences, however, tended to idolize him.

Above: Antoine Bourdelle's fanciful depiction of Walter Rummel and Isadora Duncan

Rummel's affair with Isadora Duncan began in 1919 when he signed on as musical director and accompanist for her frequent tours. Their collaboration resulted in some of Duncan's best work, but when the pianist became enamoured of one of the Isadorables, Anna (Denzler) Duncan, things became very rocky between Walter and Isadora, and they went their separate ways.

Walter had a reputation as a womanizer, and one young lady seems to have committed suicide when she found her passion for the pianist was unrequited. In 1932, following two failed marriages, Walter Rummel married Francesca Erik, a Russian poetess who claimed to be a daughter of the last tsar. Francesca subsequently became the mistress of King Leopold of the Belgians; their liaison lasted five years during which time she remained married to Rummel, returning to him as the first winds of impending war began sweeping across Europe.

Above: Walter and Francesca Erik Rummel

Rummel's unfortunate lapses of judgement in the late 1930's and early 1940's, when he performed in Germany and in Nazi-occupied France during the war, did serious damage to his career. He even filed for German citizenship, giving up his American citizenship. In 1944, venturing to Austria with Francesca, their papers were confiscated and he became a man without a country.

He thereafter had considerable difficulty explaining to Allied officials that he was apolitical and had performed during the war years wherever he was invited because music was his life. Eventually, he resumed his career but he was already experiencing the onset of spinal cancer from which he eventually died in 1953. Francesca, suffering from Parkinsons disease, went insane but lived on until 1976, dying in Montreux at the age of eighty.

One story recounted in the Timbrell biography which I found particularly moving was of Rummel's encounter with Bernard Gavoty, critic of Le Figaro, who, in 1949, had given the pianist a severe review for what turned out to be his last concert with orchestra.  Gavoty wrote years later that he had received a phone call from Rummel following the publishing of the review; Rummel asked the writer to meet him.

When they met in a small cafe, Gavoty was shocked by the appearance of the once-handsome pianist. Rummel began by saying, "Your review hurt me because it was correct, and it hit me at a time in my career and in my life when I have reason to doubt both. At certain moments, nothing is more unbearable than the truth."

Gavoty felt uneasy, but said nothing. Rummel went on: "I once was an artist, of that I am sure. You were hearing me for the first time, weren't you?" Gavoty nodded. "What a pity you hadn't heard me earlier. I'm sure you would have liked my sound, which pleased Debussy...yes, it's too bad...it's too late."  Rummel then signed to the waiter and paid for Gavoty's cup of tea, which the writer had not touched. He shook Gavoty's hand and slowly walked away.

"The memory of my article burned my eyes..." Gavoty wrote, "...and I remained there in a stupor, prey to a vague discomfort, and understanding - a little late - that, between a cruel duty and an inadmissable compliance, there are cases when one should prefer silence."      

Walter Morse Rummel's mystical recording of the Liszt transcription of Wagner's Liebestod seems to me an ideal summation of my distant but curiously thrilling connection to him, and to Isadora. It is also - reportedly - the last piece of music he ever played: for Francesca, just before his final hospitalization:

Walter Morse Rummel - Wagner~Liszt - Liebestod from TRISTAN UND ISOLDE

Amanda Selwyn's CROSSROADS @ NY Live Arts

~ Author: Oberon

Thursday June 20th, 2019 - Having seen three rehearsals of Amanda Selwyn's CROSSROADS at various stages of its development, tonight I experienced the finished work in its premiere performance at New York Live Arts.

The process began during wintertime rehearsals: brief movement motifs were introduced by each of the individual dancers. Over time, these were developed and woven into the choreographic tapestry. The dancing is set on a musical soundscape that veers from driven to meditative; the sets, costumes, and props give the piece an eye-opening visual framework, and expert lighting by Dan Ozminkowski is the crowning touch.

In the months between concept and performance, there were some changes in the roster of performers; but Amanda ended up with a cast of brilliant and distinctive dancers whose commitment and flair kept the audience thoroughly engaged throughout the work's 90-minute span.

The art of René Magritte and M C Escher were initial inspirations for CROSSROADS. A row of fanciful doors provide a backdrop, and columns - illuminated from within - are moved about as the work's opening movement progresses. Later, the dancers will continually re-arrange a set of boxes to be used as podiums...or obstacles. By the end, everything is stripped down to essentials, the boxes piled in a heap, the dancers liberated.

But lets rewind to the start: Part I of CROSSROADS is entitled Sight. It begins with Ashley McQueen entering the shadowy space; she is a dancer with the grace of a ballerina, the groundedness of an Isadora acolyte, and the impetuous musicality of someone who dances because she must. All evening, my gaze kept returning to this woman and multi-hued dancing. Topping it all off, Ms. McQueen is also a comedienne to be reckoned with: her solo, stuck in an inflatable plastic chair, made me laugh out loud. 

The other dancers now enter thru the upstage doors; they pair off - Ms. McQueen with Alex Cottone, Misaki Hayama with Isaac Kerr, and  Manon Hallay with Michael Bishop - whilst the distinctive and enigmatic Sarah Starkweather weaves among them, a dancer on her own path. The couples creates a flow of beautiful moves and poses, and then the tall and lithe Mr. Kerr comes forward in silence and takes a bite out of Magritte's apple.

The music now takes on a deep beat, and we are ready for some spacious dancing; fleeting solos and duets are part of the mix. As CROSSROADS progresses, each dancer will have multiple opportunities to show off his or her individuality and flair, seizing our focus in movement that veers from high-energy to expressive. The boys show off their partnering skills, the women each compelling in her own way. 

With the columns on a diagonal, Ashley McQueen covers the space to dense, pensive music; her arms and hands speak to us poetically, and then her solo gets more animated. Misaki Hayama emerges thru one of the doors to dance a thoughtful, moving solo of loneliness and hope; Alex Cottone opens another door to dance with Misaki.

A tom-tom beat sets off a bouncy, propulsive ensemble dance: these people are super-movers. Alex Cottone's solo here is just one of innumerable passages in which this dancer of boundless energy and passion seized the stage. He dances with Ms. McQueen, and then with Ms. Hallay. Michael Bishop and Ashley McQueen, in a duet to languid, deep, and soulful cello music, execute beautiful lifts.

After a blackout, Part II commences. Entitled Faith, it does indeed take on the feeling of a sacred rite when Alex Cottone is seen in a pool of blinding light on a low altar; his solo is simply spell-binding. As the light over Alex fades, another altar is illuminated and here the gorgeous Manon Hallay displays her beauteous line and floated arabesque in a solo at once alluring and pure. Both dancers here wear raspberry-hued costumes that accentuate their physical appeal.

Each dancer now has his/her own box on which to dance or pose, at first in unison. Sarah Starkweather's plastique solo inaugurates a fresh cycle of movement motifs. To a bigger beat, the boxes are rearranged, and fleeting pas de deux replace the solos briefly. In a spirited trio, Misaki, Manon, and Sarah dance in sync. 

Faith now becomes a journey: boxes are arranged along the front of the stage and the dancers walk in procession over these obstacles, pausing to pose or perform gestural solos along the way. A back-beat develops, and the parade breaks up.

A rather purgatorial "red quintet" springs up to a fresh tempo: Alex and the four women dance in sync, with breakouts and swift duets. Misaki's fancy footwork here captured my eye. Sarah and Alex duet, then the quintet resumes. The beat is all. 

Following a blessedly brief interval, Part III - Ascent - commences. In a foggy setting, Sarah Starkweather has a stormy solo to the sound of rushing water. Misaki and Ashley join her, the music (with big piano chords) has a throbbing depth; then Sarah - she of the unique presence - resumes her solo. 

Alex Cottone, Michael Bishop, and the four women now have a quartet wherein the darkly lyrical cello gives a feeling of Russian passion; posing and moving, so attentive to one another, the dancers pair off. The woman in a row gesture in sync as the men provide visual counterpoint. This for me was the best part of CROSSROADS; it ends on a long cello tone.   

Now comes the comic interlude: to spaced-out music, Ashley McQueen becomes helplessly trapped in an inflatable plastic chair. Her gestures and facial expressions are priceless. The other dancers come and go, unwilling - or too self-absorbed - to help her. Manon Hallay's lovely arabesques again come into play; she seems intent on perfecting them whilst Ms. McQueen struggles valiantly to stand. Suddenly, Isaac Kerr rushes on and - in a flying leap - sails over the woman stranded in the chair. Meanwhile, Sarah Starkweather and Alex Cottone have carried on with their own duet throughout.

The mood now shifts, aided by sounds of shifting sea tides: Manon Hallay and Michael Bishop have a tender duet, with lyrical partnering phrases. Misaki Hayama and Isaac Kerr dance a spacious duet, with airy lifts and a trace of romance, which the cello accentuates. Sarah Starkweather and Alex Cottone walkabout, connect, and have an agile, gently amusing duet.

While Alex wanders alone, all the others advance from stage right, striking poses and gesturing - a very nice look here - before leaving Alex on his own again. A duet of passion for Ashley McQueen and Isaac Kerr is not without hints of danger. Following a solo passage for Sarah, Manon and Michael have a side-by-side duet with subtle dips and lifts. When Manon leaves him, Michael continues to dance with his memory of her.

The three men dance as the women 'Vogue' behind them; then the four women take the floor. Following a brief, compulsive solo, Alex Cottone is left alone as the lights fade.

CROSSROADS had flashed by: never a dull moment in this feast of movement. Thanks to the vibrant commitment of her seven dancers, Amanda Selwyn can chalk up yet another winning entry in her ongoing catalog of successes. How did I feel when CROSSROADS ended? I felt like dancing!

~ Oberon

A Connection with Irène Joachim

Above: soprano Irène Joachim

I have begun re-reading Prince of Virtuosos, Charles Timbrell's biography of the pianist Walter Morse Rummel. It was in Peter Kurth's biography of Isadora Duncan that I first read about Mr. Rummel: he had been Isadora's music director (and lover) for about three years, starting in 1918. When the pianist took up with one of the "Isadorables", Anna Duncan, he and Isadora parted company.

It wasn't until my third or fourth reading of Mr. Kurth's book that Mr. Rummel's middle name - Morse - captured my attention. Morse was my mother's maiden name, and she - like the great pianist - could trace her line back to Samuel F B Morse, inventor of the telegraph. This information made me feel - strangely enough - a mystical connection with Isadora, whose life and danceworks fascinate me. 

Now, taking up the Rummel biography again, I've stumbled upon the briefest mention of the pianist's niece - thru his first marriage to pianist Thérèse Chaigneau - soprano and film actress Irène Joachim. Another bond, however obscure, that the Prince of Virtuosos gives me...this time, within the realm of opera.

Irène Joachim was born in 1913 and, after studying violin and piano, began voice lessons at age 20. She entered (and won) a competition to study at the Conservatoire de Paris; near the end of her time there, Mlle. Joachim recorded some Brahms and Mozart songs.

In 1939, she made her stage debut at the Opéra Comique, where she sang such roles as Marguerite in FAUST, Micaela, and Contessa Almaviva as well as premiering several contemporary operas. In 1940 she took on what was to be her signature role: Debussy's Mélisande. In 1941, Mlle. Joachim became the first singer to record the complete opera, opposite tenor Jacques Jansen.

Irène Joachim & Jacques Jansen - Pelléas et Mélisande ~ Mes longs cheveux

Her fame increased following the release of this marvelous recording, and she was invited to sing in Berlin for the Nazis in 1942. She declined.

Mlle. Joachim continued her singing career - her 1936 recording of songs by Carl Maria von Weber won the Grand Prix du Disque - and from 1936 to 1959 she appeared in several feature films. Following her retirement, she taught privately, and later became a professor of voice at the Conservatoire de Paris in 1963. She passed away in 2001.

Among her many recordings, Irène Joachim's exquisite rendering of Schumann's Mondnacht stands out:

Irène Joachim - Schumann ~ Mondnacht

"It was as though Heaven

Had softly kissed the Earth,

So that she, in a gleam of moonlight,

Had only to dream of him.

 

The breeze passed through the fields,

The corn swayed gently to and fro,

The forests murmured softly,

The night was aglow with stars.

 

And my soul spread

Her wings out wide,

and flew across the silent land,

As though flying home."

 

~ Oberon

Beatrice Rana|Philadelphia Orchestra @ Carnegie Hall

Above: pianist Beatrice Rana

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Friday June 7th, 2019 - Yannick Nézet-Séguin - music director of the Metropolitan Opera - led his other ensemble, The Philadelphia Orchestra - in an exciting Carnegie Hall concert tonight. The all-Russian program opened with a recently discovered curiosity: Stravinsky’s Funeral Song, Op. 5, written for the memorial of his teacher, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, in 1908. The 12 minute work, in which Stravinsky has different sections of the orchestra take turns “laying down its own melody as its wreath against a deep background of tremolo murmurings,” was lost until 2015 when a St. Petersburg Conservatory’s librarian discovered the complete orchestral parts in the mess of the Conservatory’s renovations. Musicologists long lamented the lost manuscript as the link between Stravinsky’s early works and The Firebird. Its discovery revealed not only the links in Stravinsky’s own development, but his links to Rimsky-Korsakov’s late compositional style, which Stravinsky, late in life, tried to downplay.

Sergei Prokofiev’s popular Piano Concerto No. 3 came next on the program with the exciting pianist Beatrice Rana at the piano. This was my first time hearing Ms. Rana in a live performance, but I have admired several of her recordings for some time. What struck me about her recorded performances - and what was confirmed live - is her deeply felt, yet honest and unaffected musicality. Prokofiev’s “devilishly difficult” (Prokofiev’s own words) writing presented no technical challenge to Rana’s nimble finger work. The often spiky writing can easily become a “pound on the keyboard” type of evening. That is not Rana: her light - but never weak - touch made the pounding Prokofiev requires sound effortless and graceful. Both of those words were also true about the encore: Chopin’s Etude in A-flat major, Op. 25, No. 1 showed off the more lyrical side of Rana’s artistry.

Above: the young Sergei Rachmaninoff

The premiere of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1, Op. 13 in 1897 is one of the most famous musical disasters in Western art music. Composer and conductor Alexander Glazunov appears to have been drunk on the podium and unprepared to conduct the difficult score. The reaction from the public and the critics was savage: composer and critic César Cui wrote that the symphony “would have delighted the inhabitants of Hell” and that the “music leaves an evil impression.” The young composer was so devastated by the reception that he quit composing and needed a therapist (and hypnosis) to recover from the trauma. When he fled Russia during the 1917 Revolution, the score of the symphony was lost in the chaos. Interestingly, although the symphony caused him a lot of pain, it appears to have been on Rachmaninoff’s mind for the rest of his life: he quoted its dark opening theme in the first movement of his last work, the Symphonic Dances, in 1940. Since the score of the symphony was lost and no one had heard it in more than 40 years, Rachmaninoff knew the quote would be unknown to anyone but himself. He died in 1943 and two years later orchestral parts of the symphony were discovered after all, in the St. Petersburg Conservatory (again), presumably as everyone returned home after the War. A performance was quickly arranged in Moscow (US premiere was given by The Philadelphia Orchestra and Eugene Ormandy) and finally the public was able to judge this extraordinary composition. We can safely say that César Cui’s deranged opinion was garbage; indeed, history itself has given its verdict on Cui vs. Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1. Cui is nothing but footnote.

One thing that may have confused so many listeners in 1897 was the dark and violent tone of the work; Rachmaninoff’s vivid quotations of the Dies irae may have upset some sensitive constitutions. But the Dies irae would become a common motif in all of Rachmaninoff’s major orchestral works. In the 1st Symphony, even the haunting slow movement is more sinister than calming. Cui may have been correct that the work “would have delighted the inhabitants of Hell,” except any person of taste would have seen that as a positive. Rachmaninoff’s most famous works, Piano Concerto No. 2 and Symphony No. 2, are steeped in romanticism, their flowing, endless melodies unrolling with shameless abandon. The very different tone of the 1st Symphony, however, reveals fascinating depths.

There are few orchestras with a stronger personal and professional connection to a major composer than Philadelphia Orchestra’s is to Rachmaninoff. For a few decades Rachmaninoff played with and conducted them regularly, and he chose them when he recorded his own orchestral works. His last composition, the Symphonic Dances, were dedicated to the Philadelphia Orchestra and Eugene Ormandy led the world premiere performance. This is music they have in their blood the way Bayreuth Orchestra has Wagner and the NY Philharmonic has Mahler. With Maestro Nézet-Séguin on the podium, this Carnegie Hall performance of Rachmaninoff’s 1st Symphony was perhaps the most thrilling and hair-raising I’ve ever heard. Nézet-Séguin’s unflagging energy perhaps a taste for the macabre was the perfect approach to this dark and sprawling work. The Philadelphians responded with a fearlessness that shook the concert hall to the rafters. Is César Cui heard this performance, he might have had a heart-attack. 

Maestro Nézet-Séguin (above, in a Hans Van Der Woerd photo) is currently recording Rachmaninoff’s complete piano concertos with Daniil Trifonov and the Philadelphia Orchestra. Based on this coruscating performance of the 1st Symphony, it may be time for this group to record Rachmaninoff’s complete orchestral works. The Concertgebouw seems to do a complete Mahler traversal every few years (though the last one, with Daniele Gatti, was abandoned part-way for stupid reasons). Surely the Philadelphians and Rachmaninoff have earned a similar right? Deutsche Grammophon, are you paying attention?

~ Ben Weaver