AN UNRAVELING MUSICAL MYTHS HELL-O-WE'EN SPECIAL: A SPOOKY SOUNDTRACK FOR ALL HALLOWS' EVE

It's that time of year again - when chill seekers look to the dark side of classical music to get their creep on.

More often than not, both newcomers to the genre and seasoned listeners alike are faced with an annually occurring dilemma: will it be Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre of Orff's O Fortuna to set the mood come this All Hallows' Eve? 

With list after list nominating popular, oldie-but-goodie bone-chillers (featured in both online and in print media), the challenge here at Unraveling Musical Myths hasn't been which piece from the standard Hallowe'en canon to highlight, but rather, how to narrow down the spookiest of selections from an arsenal of less familiar diabolical delights, especially curated by the author of this blog for the season.

I have selected from my boiling cauldron the following 13 bone-chilling rides through hell featuring just enough crazed cacophony to make even the bravest listener cower beneath the covers.

UPDATE: In honor Unraveling Musical Myths' long-time reader, Classical_Music_Fan, I have added an additional 13 spooky selections to this years' edition. The links for these extra, tumultuously terrifying treats are listed in the comment section at the end of this post. 

VÍCTOR AGUDELO - EL SOMBRERÓN

We begin within the dark, humid corridors of a Columbian village in the dead of night, where, in the distance, sound the ominous din of horse hooves, steadily clip clopping along cobble stoned streets. Neither quickening or slowing, they march at a determined pace until a sickening high pitched squeal breaks the rhythm: it is the whistle of El Sombrerón, the phantom of the night, sat upon his black steed. 

 

In the distance, a funeral bell tolls - a warning to the would-be hoods, drunks and gamblers of their fate should they engage in public mischief: a desperate sprint for their lives under the moonlit night, chased by El Sombrerón upon his trusty horse. At their side, two angry, vicious black dogs are released from their metal chains, and are sicced upon his victims. 

 

The thrilling chase is based on the local legend of El Sombrerón (known in English as The Man in the [Black] Hat), a mysterious (allegedly real) villager who once roamed the streets upon his black stallion, clad in all black attire. Although rumored to have never harmed another living soul while alive, his menacing appearance instilled in all those who encountered him both curiosity and fear. A constant stern-jawed expression only added to the ever churning rumor mill: who was El Sombrerón? What did he want? Was he good, or evil?

The mysterious man in the black hat continued to spook villagers well after his death, as a phantom menace of virtue.

But make no mistake, dear reader, Columbian composer Victor Agudelo's El Sombrerón dispenses with any trace of virtue: a menacing brass section gruesomely groans to the start-and-stop rhythm of hoof beats, as the listener places himself in the place of the would-be victim. A brief respite - portraying the mysterious chaser "losing" the chased as he cowers behind a brick lined wall under the cover of night - is brazenly interrupted by brash horns as the pace quickens to match the victim's racing heart. With a bone-chilling and sickeningly frustrating pace, El Sombrerón will leave the listener on the edge of his or her seat. 

 

Questions about the ultimate fate of the victim are left unanswered by the brass section, which repeatedly approach crescendi, only to be cut off just before the crest as the mysterious Man in the Black Hat advances and retreats.

 

ALEXANDER MOSOLOV - THE IRON FOUNDRY 

Inspired by The Procession of the Sage from Igor Stavinsky's masterful Rite of Spring, Alexander Mosolov's steely musical interpretation of an iron factory running at full steam begins methodically, with an unintentionally menacing start of the iron master's machine, represented by the stroke of a tam-tam. Percussion and brass sinfully interplay among each other as the machine reaches full power and as the rest of the factory begins to function in unison.

Considered a prime example of Soviet futurist music by a composer known for his brutalist scores, Mosolov's Iron Foundry unveils the horrific cacophony which can be found in everyday life.

OPERA RARA SCORES VITAL BOON WITH WARNER CLASSICS AS MAJOR LABEL PICKS UP DISTRIBUTION RIGHTS

Rossini's Semiramide under Sir Mark Elder will
mark the first release under the new partnership.

Niche operatic record label Opera Rara, praised for its persistent championing of rare and obscure works, has scored a vital boon with the major record label Warner Records (Classics division) as the world-famous institution recently inked a deal to take on worldwide distribution for all future Opera Rara recordings.

The premiere release under the new partnership will be a recording of Gioachino Rossini’s 1823 tragic opera Semiramide, performed by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, under the baton of the artistic director of Opera Rara, Sir Mark Elder, on September 7, 2018.

The recently discovered Donizetti opera, L’Ange de Nisida, which held it’s premiere at London’s Covent Garden yesterday, July 18, 2018, will be the next album to be released under the new partnership.

Russian coloratura Albina Shagimuratova will appear on the Semiramide release by Opera Rara. Listen below to the talented soprano sing the titular character’s stratospheric cavatina, Bel raggio lusinghier in a separate performance:



Learn more:

• News article - Gramophone (External link)
• L'Ange de Nisida world premiere on Unraveling Musical Myths

-Rose.

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AN OFFICER, A LADY, AND A GENTLEMAN: THE TRIUMVIRATE BEHIND ROSSINI’S ADINA (ARIA OF THE WEEK)

Police Superintendent at Lisbon Diego Ignazio
de Pina Manique commissioned Adina from
Rossini in 1818.

Not all operas boasted royal commissioners – take, for instance, Gioachino Rossini’s 1826 Adina - the one-act farsa commissioned in 1818 by Portuguese Police Superintendent Diego Ignazio de Pina Manique of Lisbon.

The story behind the making of Adina is as romantic as any great opera: this relatively obscure gem, quoted by Rossini as a “theme [on] the abduction of the seraglio,” was the brainchild of the Officer, who fell besotted by an unknown soprano after hearing her perform at the Teatro Nacional de São Carlos. So moved was the music lover (who worked part time as an Inspector of Portuguese theatres), he opted to approach Rossini for a special commission: stage an opera – and quickly at that – in the singer’s honor.^[1]

Rossini took on the commission (albeit unenthusiastically), and set to work on writing the score. As a result of the contractual time restraints imposed on Gioachino by the Officer, much of the music was recycled from the composer’s previous work (from his 1814 operatic ‘dramma’ Sigismondo) or written with the assistance of a collaborator. One of the pieces original to the new work is the aria “Fragolette fortunate,” a charming Cavatina for soprano.

It is also Unraveling Musical Myths' Aria of the Week:



Footnotes:

^[1]It is presently unknown why Rossini waited 8 years to première Adina at São Carlos (it’s first performance was held on this day in 1826). It is certainly curious given the police officer’s contractual stipulation for a speedy staging.

- Rose.

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QUOTE OF THE DAY - MAY 25, 2017: BEVERLY SILLS ON THE PRIMARY FUNCTION OF ART

Beverly Sills

Today’s Quote of the Day comes to us from the late 20th century American soprano Beverly Sills, who would have turned 88 today.

The world renowned and highly accoladed starlet – known affectionately as “Bubbles Silverman” (a name the singer used as a child radio star) – would begin her operatic career with a successful run with the Philadelphia Civic Opera and the New York City Opera, where she appeared to solid critical reviews as Rosalinde in Johann Strauss' (II) Die Fledermaus.

But it would be in the late 1960’s that Sills would soar to international fame, following her role as Cleopatra in George Frideric Handel’s Julius Caesar.

Beloved abroad and at home (superstar soprano Leontyne Price is said to have remarked of the singer that she found herself: “flabbergasted at how many millions of things she can do with a written scale”), Sills incredibly dynamic voice continues to amaze – and mystify – fans of the opera and the art of coloratura to this day.

“A primary function of art and thought is to liberate the individual from the tyranny of his culture in the environmental sense and to permit him to stand beyond it in an autonomy of perception and judgment.”

- Beverly Sills, 25 May 1929 - 2 July 2007

Enjoy below one of my favorite performances by Ms. Sills – performing the stratospheric "Dal soggiorno degli estinti” from Gioachino Rossini’s L'Assedio di Corinto (Le siège de Corinthe):



-Rose.

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COVENT GARDEN’S CALAMITOUS HISTORY: PRIZEFIGHTERS, HITMEN AND FIRES (OH MY): THE OP RIOTS

Today Unraveling Musical Myths takes a look back at the surprisingly calamitous early history of Londons’ [The] Royal Opera House, and the riotous band of brutes and repeated fires that threatened to snuff out the theatre from the world’s cultural map.

[Fig. I] "Killing no Murder. as Performing at the Grand National Theatre" by caricaturist Issac Robert Cruikshank.

We know the Royal Opera House – or, more casually "Covent Garden" – today as one of the operatic sphere’s most esteemed theatres, Britain’s musical Mecca and the launching pad that would catapult into the stratosphere some of the world’s most beloved operatic talent – the likes of Joan Sutherland and Jon Vickers. The ROH is coveted by both singers and dancers across the globe as a "must-perform-at" venue; even so, it wasn’t always a bed of roses for the theatre’s managers (much less for it’s patrons) during it’s many years on British soil.

Originally named the “Theatre Royal,” the Opera House we know and patronize today is actually the third theatre to have been built in its location since the first theatre’s construction in 1732. The theatre that patrons of the arts knew then boasted a repertoire of predominately pantomime and other acting engagements. Ballet and Opera did indeed have a presence at the venue during this period, but they existed only in a minor role. The venue's most notable pioneer of the Operatic genre would be the composer George Frederick Handel – a recently made citizen and émigré from Halle in Germany.^[1] Handel would open the theatre’s first season of operas in 1735, and would premiere many an opera and oratorio at the location, almost all of which the composer had written specifically for the theatre. The Theatre Royal, as it were, would gain much prominence as only one of two theatres (the other being Drury Lane, which opened its doors 69 years earlier, in 1663) to be granted permission to present spoken drama, operating under Patents Royal issued by then-reigning King Charles II* in 1662/63 ( *in the case of Drury Lane; the patent for the Theatre at Covent Garden having been issued prior to the building’s construction).^{*[see footnotes: learn more].}

[Fig. II] Interior view of Covent Garden Theatre #1

By all accounts, the Theatre Royal seemed to be a thriving venue during its early reign. Popular performances of the day, however, would soon come to a most unwelcome halt in 1808, when, due to the extremely risky practice of employing candlelight to illuminate the theatre (a first resort for lighting during that era), the theatre, along with the costumes, scenery and manuscripts contained within, burned to the ground. The response was chaotic – the theatre must be rebuilt, and quickly, at that.

And quickly rebuilt it was: With an estimated damage of some £250,000, a plan had to be executed to recover the costs of rebuilding. The British nobility would swiftly step in to help facilitate the funding of such an enterprising endeavor. Acting under King George III, the Dukes of York and Northumberland would contribute a sizable donation to the pot (an amount of £76,000), whilst simultaneously introducing a “public subscription,” to be paid by visitors to the theatre until which time costs could be recouped.

This new financial agenda, however, would prove to be most unfortuitous. Patrons of the theatre were incensed with building management for increasing the costs of seating (from six shillings to seven for the boxes and from 3 shillings and sixpence to four shillings for the pit), not to mention converting the theatre’s entire third tier into private boxes, which would be made accessible only by agreeing to pay a wage of £300 per annum in rent - a wage the middle class could scarcely afford, and which the wealthy - who intended to remain wealthy, thankyouverymuch - refused to pay.

So vitriolic was the public's reaction, theatre-goers attending opening night in September 1809 would erupt into an all-out riot during a performance of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, interrupting the performance by beating sticks on the back of seats, stomping the floor, and breaking out into a hysteria of excessive booing and hissing – at one point even engaging in a frenzied dance of mockery. Police had to be called in by theatre manager John Philip Kemble just to empty the venue as enraged patrons held fast to their seats, refusing to leave the theatre in a defiant act of protest.

[Fig. III] *CLICK IMAGE TO ENLARGE "Acting Magistrates" read "The Riot Act"
to an incensed crowd in this contemporary illustration.

The already escalating situation at The Theatre Royal would only continue to get worse for both manager and venue following the theatres' calamitous second debut: bands of attendees would purposely arrive mid-way through a performance in an effort to pay a half-priced fare – and they would not arrive quietly. The frustrated patrons continued to chide theatre management by a issuing a barrage of insults, boos, banging and hissing – and for good measure, took to defacing the theatre itself with the early 19th century’s form of graffiti – hanging placards and banners adorned with crass language. ^{[see Fig III]}  A coffin was even brought into the theatre with a not-inconspicuous threat attached proclaiming the “death” of the fare-hike by "whooping cough" [i.e. by loud - and violent - protest].

Kemble was not one to respond to threats. In retaliation, the theatre manager hired the English prizefighter Daniel Mendoza (alongside the boxer’s personally selected band of brutes) to use as an intimidation tactic in a bold effort to silence the rioters (who now had a name: the “Old Pricers” - or, the "OPs"). Rumor had it Mendoza and his ‘hitmen’ took the illusion of inexorability quite seriously - by taking to both clubs and fists upon the face of any demonstrator who dared voice his disapproval for the fare increase.

Contemporary caricaturist Isaac Robert Cruikshank would immortalize the theatre’s most disruptive period (which lasted some three months before Kemble finally relented, temporarily lowering the price of admission and issuing a formal apology to theatregoers) in a an etching he called “Killing No Murder as Performing at the Grand National Theatre.” Mendoza serves as the focal point of the image: dead center, with club in hand, he can be seen stomping on the chest of a bloodied protestor, whilst angrily shouting the words “Down down to [Hell] with all OPs & say ‘twas Dan that sent thee there.” ^{[Fig I]}

Kemble, it seems, did not learn very quickly. By the opening of the theatre’s next season, he attempted, in vain, to preserve half of the private boxes he had designated "rental" seats in the venues' most popular third tier during the OP riots, which only served to re-incense patrons and re-kindle the riots until such time as he came to his senses and once more yielded to public demand.

English Prizefighter Daniel Mendoza was famously
hired as a de-facto bouncer for the ROH during the
infamous "OP Riots." The boxer, in addition to his
hired band of brutes were alleged to have used both
threats and fists to temper the theatre's rowdy crowds.

Surprisingly, the events of 1808-1809 would not be the last series of calamities thrust upon the ROH. The theatre would again succumb to fire in 1856 – a common occurrence for theatres of this era who had to rely on the lighting and display of candles or the use of limelight (the latter introduced in 1837, which was comprised of a highly combustible mixture of quicklime, oxygen and hydrogen flame) to illuminate both theatre and stage. Both methods of lighting were notoriously risky for their venues (and for the people within it), not to mention highly flammable in their application. The third, and final theatre would be constructed in 1858. It would be converted into a furniture storehouse during the first world war and made into a dance hall during WWII, and would not host an opera or ballet until 1946, when it was reopened as The Royal Opera.^[2] The newly established Royal Ballet marked the theatres' 3rd official debut with a production of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's The Sleeping Beauty, followed by a joint venture with the also freshly-established Covent Garden Opera Company for a production of English composer Henry Purcell’s The Fairy Queen in December of opening year - which would itself be followed by the theatres’ first full opera performance in the new year: with French composer Georges Bizet’s Carmen.

Enjoy below the beautiful aria “Lontan del mio tesoro” from George Frederick Handel’s 1734 opera Il Pastor Fido. The opera would be the first of many penned by the composer to be performed at the Theatre Royal. Il Pastor…would be followed by premiere performances of Operas Ariodante in 1735, followed by both Alcina, and Atalanta the following year, and a royal performance of Messiah in 1743.




Footnotes:

^[1]George Frederick Handel, formerly Georg Frideric Händel, would become a naturalized British citizen on the 20th of February, 1727 in accordance with immigration laws under Kings George I and II which required the German native obtain citizenship to continue on in his role as a composer of Britain and as Composer of the Chapel Royal. 

Read more about this pivotal event in Herr Handel’s history right here on Unraveling Musical Myths:

• TODAY IN MUSIC HISTORY: Georg Frideric Händel becomes British, becomes George Frederick Handel
  

^[2] The Royal Opera (second theatre) would, for a brief period, be known as the “Royal Italian Opera” following the dissolution in 1843 of the Letter Patent previously issued by King Charles II which had decreed the Theatre Royal* as just one of two theatres to have held a monopoly on the production of spoken and serious drama. During this period competitor venues would at last be made aloud to thrive. The theater scored a major boon in 1843 when the revered composer Michael Costa joined the venue, bringing with him a large band of singers. It would prove to be a fortuitous move for the theatre, and following a period of operatic performances sung only in the Italian tongue - from the 1847 performance of Gioachino Rossini’s Semiramide to the year 1892, when composer and conductor Gustav Mahler debuted Richard Wagner’s German language Ring Cycle, at which point the word “Italian” was dropped from the name.

* Learn more (external link):

To discover more about the Letters Patent issued by King Charles II, and to learn more about the process, visit http://www.british-history.ac.uk

-Rose.

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TRIVIA AND HUMOR: THE BIRTH OF SCHUBERT (AND THE COMPOSER’S MANY SIMILARITIES TO MOZART)

On this January day some 220 years ago, a bouncing baby boy would be welcomed into the awaiting arms of the Schuberts.

The father of the future young prodigy, a violinist and teacher, no doubt anxious to pass on his musical acuity unto his son. Should this new bundle of joy survive into adulthood, the couple could consider themselves doubly blessed: this special delivery, after all, would arrive during medicine's primitive era, wherein the only inoculation to prevent against disease was the newly introduced smallpox vaccine, developed only one year earlier by an Englishman in 1796 – the combating of disease, much like the Schubert’s newly born son, still in it’s infancy stage. The father Schubert knew the risks of early infant mortality all to well – of the couple’s 14 children – one of them illegitimate – only five would survive past infancy. Luckily enough for the couple -  and for posterity - their newborn son would live into the relative mid-stages of adulthood. The beaming parents named the child Franz, after the child’s father, of course.

The world outside of young Franz’ inner circle – that is, those outside of his own kin – would come to know the young Austrian as the prodigy: the musically gifted instrumentalist and young composer Franz Schubert. Posterity would remember him as simply “Schubert” – one of the great icons and leading influential musicians of the classical era – and yet another gifted export of that ever-so-musical Mecca known as (modern) Austria; the same country that churned out such pre-eminent and enigmatic composers as Joseph Haydn, Ludwig van Beethoven, Johannes Brahms, and the Strauss dynasty just to name a few…and of course the unparalleled maestro of Western Classical Music himself: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – the one time wunderkind who had famously mesmerized Europe’s Royal elite almost since his birth some 41 years prior to Schubert’s own entry into the world.

It is this last mentioned composer in whom Schubert would share an uncanny likeness, in both personal and professional aspects. Unraveling Musical Myths explores the many similarities between these two highly captivating figures in the comparison below:

BIRTHDAYS:

Both composers were born at the end of January – Mozart on the 27th, and Schubert on the 31st. Coincidentally, both composers were also born in the 18th century (Mozart in 1756, and Schubert in 1797) – they were also both born in Austria.

MUSICALLY INCLINED FAMILY:

Both Mozart and Schubert would receive lessons from their fathers, both of whom were violinists, and both of whom would teach their sons the instrument. Both young prodigies would be assisted in lessons on the piano by a sibling – for Mozart, it was his sister “Nannerl,” and for Schubert, it was his brother, Ignaz.

A young Mozart plays the harpsichord, flanked by father Leopold and sister
Maria Anna (Nannerl) in this family portrait

SPEAKING OF FAMILY…

Schubert had yet another thing in common with Mozart: both composers would be "miracle children” – the surviving minority of a large family of siblings. Of the Mozart family’s seven offspring, only two would survive past infancy. As for the Schubert’s fourteen children (one illegitimate), only nine would survive past this stage (which, if you are doing the math, means a total of five sibling deaths for the Mozart kin, and five sibling deaths for the Schubert kin).

BOTH SHARED A CONNECTION TO ANTONIO SALIERI:

Mozart knew Salieri as a contemporary ‘rival’ and musical collaborator at the Habsburg court, while Schubert knew the composer as a teacher of composition and music theory.

BOTH COMPOSERS SHARED AN AFFINITY FOR THE WORKS OF HAYDN:

In fact, both Mozart and Schubert not only revered the composer Haydn – they would both also credit the works of the composer as having been a source of influence in creating their own compositions.

SWEET SIXTEEN, SWEET VIENNA:

Both musicians would create a stir at the tender age of sixteen: Mozart would arrive in Vienna as a keyboard prodigy at this age. It would be a fortuitous visit for the young musician - during which the composer is believed to have met with Haydn, and following this meeting, would further hone his skills as a composer - eventually establishing for himself a name that would exceed the rather secluded confines of a master pianist. Within 7 months of his return to the Austrian capital in 1782 (when Mozart was then 10 years older) the man formerly known as the “finest keyboard player in all of Vienna” would establish himself in the city and across Europe as a composer, after his opera Die Entführung aus dem Serail ("The Abduction from the Seraglio") opened to rave reviews. It is probably safe to assume that the 26 year old Mozart had absorbed much influence from his pubescent visit to Vienna and his meeting with Herr Haydn in 1772.
 
Cristina Deutekom performs the stunning aria "Martern Aller Arten" from Mozart's Die Entführung aus dem Serail:



Schubert, on the other hand, could also claim his sixteenth year as having been a pivotal moment in his career, and the city of Vienna as the backdrop in which he too, would establish himself* as a composer – it would be here that the pubescent composer would launch his first Symphony (no. I in D major, D. 82):

BOTH BELONGED TO THE CLASSICAL ERA OF WESTERN CLASSICAL MUSIC

Schubert, a late-classical era composer, can also lay claim to the early romantic era.

BOTH WERE EXTREMELY PROLIFIC, WIDE-RANGING COMPOSERS:

According to modern accounts (the Köchel catalogue), Mozart boasts an excess of 600 works, his oeuvre consisting of symphonic, concertante, chamber, operatic, and choral music. 


Mozart's gorgeous aria "Dove Sono i Momenti" from opera Le Nozze di Figaro, Gundula Janowitz performs:



Schubert also boasts an excess of 600 secular vocal works (lieder), in addition to several symphonic, chamber, operatic, sacred, incidental and piano music. 

One of the many gorgeous lieder of Schubert - Barbara Hendricks sings "Du Bist Die Ruh":

 

BOTH COMPOSERS WOULD MEET THEIR DEATH BEFORE THE AGE OF 40, BOTH IN VIENNA, BOTH IN "EARLY WINTER," BOTH BY STILL-DISPUTED MYSTERIOUS ILLNESSES, BOTH "PENNILESS":

Mozart would perish December 5th in Vienna in 1791, at the relatively young age (from a modern perspective) of 35 years, by what was believed at the time to have been the acute stages of miliary fever. Schubert would perish at just 31 years in November of 1828, also in Vienna, believed to have been taken from the world by yet another fever-related malady – not miliary, but rather allegedly by typhoid fever.

(and both shared the same STD)...

Both ‘causes of death’ were hotly contested by the public at the time of both musician’s departures from the musical sphere, a trend that persists to this day. One theory that still makes the rounds is a premature death for both Mozart and Schubert by the tertiary (late) stages of Syphilis and/or it’s treatment. Both composers are believed to have been afflicted by the very same sexually transmitted disease.

Like Mozart -who, while not financially poor per se, but certainly in enough debt toward the end of his life that his widow Constanze could scarcely afford to bury him (the funeral would end up being funded by one of Mozart's former patrons, the Baron Gottfried van Swieten), Schubert, too, would die "penniless."

 

LEGACY:

Both Mozart and Schubert are indisputably two of the most instantly recognizable names in Western Classical Music. While both boasted undeniable, seemingly unearthly talents, both composers owe a large portion of their persisting infamy to the high praise and championship of some pretty heavy hitters in classical music history.

While there is undoubtedly a discrepancy between both composers in terms of performance history – Mozart having toured extensively and performed before Emperors, kings and other members of nobility in addition to the greater public; whilst Schubert held many private, invitee performances in his private salon (musical meetups he called "Schubertiade")* before an intimate circle of contemporary musicians, both composers were widely esteemed, praised, and viewed as a source of invaluable influence for some of Western Classical Music (and Eastern Europe's) most famous names: Mozart counted among his admirers Felix Mendelssohn, Johannes Brahms, Antonín Dvořák, Joseph Haydn, Richard Wagner,  Frédéric Chopin, Camille Saint-Saëns, Gioachino Rossini, Pyotr Ilych Tchaikovsky, Richard Strauss  - even Schubert himself.

Some of Schubert’s famous championers throughout posterity have been Felix Mendelssohn, Johannes Brahms, Antonín Dvořák, Franz Liszt,  Robert Schumann,  Hector Berlioz, Anton Bruckner, Anton Webern, Benjamin Britten and Richard Strauss.

For both Mozart and Schubert, the above lists of admirers are far from exhaustive. Both composers continue to bewilder, astonish, and inspire composers and musicians living in the 21st century – and, it is due to our exalted privilege of listening to masterfully rendered recreations of the music of these maestri – their scores having been tediously and meticulously preserved thought many centuries - that we have come to share the same conclusion of unrivalled excellence in these two enigmatic and ingenious composers as have our more musically inclined ancestors.

-Rose.

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QUOTE OF THE DAY - JANUARY 23, 2017: STENDHAL'S VIE DE ROSSINI (EXTRACT) Feat. Did You Know?

Today’s Quote of the Day comes to us courtesy of the 18th century French writer and music critic known mononymously as Stendhal (born Marie-Henri Beyle) in honor of the 234th anniversary of his birth - observed by both the literary and musical spheres on this 23rd day of January - and is extracted from the iconic author’s exquisitely poetic biography Vie de Rossini (Life of Rossini, published 1824):

“Take any young Italian, whose whole being is preoccupied with some imperious passion: he may, while it is still at fever-heat, reflect upon it for a time in silence; but sooner or later he will start to sing, softly, perhaps some tune by Rossini; and quite unconsciously he will have selected, among all the tunes he knows, the one which seems most aptly to echo his own mood. Then, a little later, instead of singing softly to himself, he will begin to sing out loud; and, still unsuspecting, his singing will begin to answer, in subtle shapes and shadings, the peculiar quality of the passion which is raging in his heart. His soul, as it were, has found an echo, and the echo is itself a consolation; his singing is like a mirror in which he can observe his own reflection; previously, he had been exasperated by the unkindness of fate, and his spirit was filled with anger; but now he can see himself…”

Take a deep breath, and slowly exhale to the gorgeous stylings of Gioachino Rossini: enjoy below the sublime quintetto “Celeste man placata” from the 18th century romantic composer’s opera Mosè in Egitto:



Did You Know?

Although Stendhal’s music-related literary output may not have exactly been superfluous, the writer's early biographies on composer favorites Franz Joseph Haydn and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and famed 18th century librettist Pietro Metastasio (Vies de Haydn, de Mozart et de Métastase, published in 1814), and his biography on Rossini in particular (Stendhal holds the distinction of being the latter composers’ first biographer) remain a popular source of reference for modern scholars seeking first-hand, contemporary accounts of critical dissection and analysis (including the psycho-analysis) of the leading composers of the author’s era.

Of the favorite composers of the writer mentioned above, Stendhal would appear to harness the lion’s share of his adulation on Rossini: in Vie de Rossini, he introduces the biography thusly:

“Napoleon is dead; but a new conqueror has already shown himself to the world; and from Moscow to Naples, from London to Vienna, from Paris to Calcutta, his name is constantly on every tongue. The fame of this hero knows no bounds save those of civilization itself.” 

Stendhal remained an ardent admirer of music for the remainder of his life; and, in a manner most coincidental, the author would perish by the same illusive hand that claimed the lives of so many 18th century composers (excluding the above mentioned composers - save for speculation surrounding Herr Mozart): complications from the treatment of Syphilis would inevitably lead to the writer succumbing to a fatal seizure whilst walking the streets of Paris on the 23rd of March, 1842.

Read Vie de Rossini in English (translated by Richard N. Coe) for free at archive.org:

• Life of Rossini

-Rose.

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TODAY IN CLASSICAL MUSIC HISTORY / NOTABLE LETTERS – MOZART’S DON GIOVANNI RECEIVES PREMIERE IN BERLIN, IS RIGHTEOUSLY PANNED BY THE CRITICAL PRESS, PREDICTED TO FADE INTO OBSCURITY

Portrait of Mozart (debated) c. 1790

It was on this December day in 1790 at Berlin’s Theater an der Wien that Mozart’s 19th opera, Don Giovanni made its premiere in the German capital (the opera’s world premiere having been held in Prague at the Teatro di Praga in October of 1787) to unanimously tepid reviews.  The Journal of Fashion called it “too artificial…overloaded with instruments” - a sentiment that seemed to make the rounds among the critical press: the Monthly Musical Journal expressed disbelief at the backlash Herr Mozart received for the performance – a very rare occurrence indeed for the composer - yet does nothing to repudiate it, simply claiming  

“until now I have not heard him considered by any thorough musician as a correct, less a perfect artist, and still less with regard to poetry, as a correct and fine composer…”

No review, however, was quite as scathing as the following critique, which not only lambasts Don Giovanni, but predicts a life spent in obscurity and a legacy ultimately left unrealized by its composer (extracted from a local newspaper in 1790 Berlin):

“If ever an opera was anxiously expected, if ever there was a work by Mozart raised to the skies before it’s performance, it was this ‘Don Juan.’ The composer must not speak to us by overloading the instruments, but with heart-feelings and passions; then he writes grandly, then his name will go down to future generations, and a perennial laurel will blossom for him in the Temple of Immortality…”

Strange commentary, indeed: Mozart’s Don Giovanni is today, far from an obscure work, proudly boasting a status as one of the top ten most frequently performed (and beloved) operas in theaters across the globe. It’s composer has long been considered one of - if not the - most influential and leading masters of Western Classical Music – an accolade that sees no hint of contest anytime in the foreseeable future.

From both a contemporary and industry standpoint, several major composers, from Franz Liszt and Frédéric Chopin to Herrs Beethoven and Offenbach - even Rossini - have borrowed music from the opera and/or made arrangements for it – Gounod called it a opera that "stands highest among all classic works;" Tchaikovsky famously praised both the opera and its composer in a privately written exchange with his confidante and benefactress Nadezhda von Meck in which he states

“I not only like Mozart, I worship him… I am quite incapable of describing to you what I felt on hearing Don Giovanni… nothing in opera has impressed me so deeply... I could cry out and weep from the overpowering strain on the emotions… I love the music of Don Giovanni so much that even as I write you, I could shed tears of agitation and emotion... Mozart is responsible for my having dedicated my life to music... how could I not want my dear, best, incomparable friend to worship the one I worship over all musicians? How could I not try to make you feel moved and carried away by that music which makes me tremble with indescribable bliss?”

Praise for Don Giovanni wasn’t limited only to Herr Mozart’s musical peers – many icons of literary intelligentsia would praise the opera, from the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, who writes (through a character in his novel Enten-Eller) that Don Giovanni is "a work without blemish, of uninterrupted perfection;" Gustave Flaubert called Don Giovanni one of the “finest things God has ever made” Whilst E.T.A Hoffman and George Bernard Shaw included scenes from the opera in their published works. Praise for the opera at it’s October 27 premiere in Prague in 1787 was swiftly lauded on the work and it’s composer, with one periodical claiming "Connoisseurs and musicians say that Prague has never heard the like…" - yet Don Giovanni’s disastrous premiere in Berlin and later in Milan (where it was received with a round of audience hissing) present an entirely different critical perspective. So what happened? What lessons, if any, are we to draw from such polar opposite viewpoints?

Contemporary poster for Mozart's Don Giovanni

I would posit that it was the challenging of classical music’s rigid rules in Berlin and in Italy by Herr Mozart that led to such criticism: the presentation of something new - setting sail upon formerly uncharted waters – combined with the composers' perceived placement on opera's royal throne – situated at the top of a finely gilded musical pedestal – that ultimately led to Don Giovanni's demise in the German capital.

A pack mentality – and Mozart’s own crushing celebrity combined with the over-saturation of the composer in local periodicals, I believe, played a large role in the attempt to dethrone the King of Opera. This destructive formula is nothing new. It persists even to this day, living on in full force in all genres of music and even stage. We recognize this trend most noticeably when a modern-day icon of music or screen dies – the previously ignored composer or actor is suddenly exalted to heroic status – his or her works and performances given new life - tagged with the sobriquet of perfectionism. We see it in the start-up soprano or tenor – whose physical appearance is given more importance than ever before required to help “sell” an opera’s romantic or tragic story – almost all of whom are roundly chastised by armchair critics, loathsome of the up-and-comer with the “full package”...beloved only when the popular perception of sex appeal is lost – when the artist ages, or puts on weight. Like Herr Mozart, they too are panned by their musical peers – in lieu of hopes for immortality, given a death sentence instead.

If we are to extract any lessons from the (now comical) crude “predictions” of the late 18th century Berlin press, it is this - draw your own conclusions. Listen to and enjoy thoroughly the music that moves you.

And, most importantly:

pay no attention to the critics. 


Enjoy below one of my favorite arias from Don Giovanni – Zerlina’s “Vedrai Carino” sung here by Slovak soprano Lucia Popp:


-Rose.

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REMEMBERING HEINRICH HEINE: DECEMBER 13, 1797 - FEBRUARY 17, 1856

Heinrich Heine, poet, critic, ne'er-do-well.

The controversial poet, librettist and music/literary critic Heinrich Heine, born this 13th day of December at Düsseldorf in 1797 is perhaps best known in the English speaking world as the famous German poet whose work was once set on fire by the Nazis during the second world war due to their author and his political perspectives being a designated “degenerate” and made a nominee for the so-called forsaken sect of “Jewish cultural intelligentsia” - a group targeted by the Third Reich for anti-Semitic protest.

Heine is also known in the East as the famous German poet who is reviled by some modern-day Israeli critics for having been a Christian convert.

The classical music sphere knows him best as the famous German poet whose lyrics live on in the works of an impressive number of it’s most illustrious masters: Schubert adopted six of his poems for his wildly successful Schwanengesang ("Swan song"); both Schumanns honored him with music based on his verses - most notably Robert’s Liederkreis (Op. 24) - Beethoven and Grieg, too, set Heine’s poems to music, a trend followed by Felix and Fanny Mendelssohn, Johannes Brahms, Hugo Wolf, Richard Strauss, Pyotr Ilych Tchaikovsky, Carl Orff, César Cui, Pietro Mascagni and Richard Wagner – and that’s just to mention a few.

But what few know is the fact that Heine once selfishly tried to derail the highly glamorized career of famed Hungarian pianist and composer Franz Liszt by attempting to blackmail him out of what Heine referred to as “appreciation money.” Liszt wasn’t Heine’s only victim. In 1855, German romantic composer Giacomo Meyerbeer fell victim to a scathing – and very public – attack by Heine after the composer refused to top off the poet with an additional loan (Meyerbeer had already lent Heinrich a sizable sum, and was presently being propositioned for another 500 francs – which a still-un-reimbursed Meyerbeer refused). Heine then blasted the composer in a subsequent poetic work he had published, “Die Menge tut es” in which he referred to Meyerbeer as a “music corrupter.”

A Hungarian Heartthrob: Franz Liszt famously
made the ladies swoon.

As of late April 1844, it would be the world’s first documented “superstar” Franz Liszt who would be carefully positioned within Heine’s crosshairs. On this occasion, Heine would attack first - and attempt to procure payment after. His method of attack: a strategically organized arsenal of threats, blackmail and humiliation.

Liszt, who was appearing at Paris’ Théâtre-Italien for a whirlwind two-part concert series on April 16th and 25th of that year, was currently the toast of the town. The musical phenomenon from Hungary was on the lips of every upper-crust Parisian. It would be on this visit to the French capital that Heine - after witnessing Liszt’s famously frenzied following of female fanatics (the 19th century equivalent of the modern day rock-star groupie) - that the poet first coined the term “Lisztomania.”

He meant it as a pejorative.

Writing to the man of the hour, Franz Liszt himself, Heine warned the composer of a potentially imminent portent, should he fail to provide a handout to the poet – who was then moonlighting as a (rather notable) music critic. His letter, penned April 24 at Paris, on the evening prior to Liszt’s second concert in the French capital, Heine issued the following thinly veiled threat:

“I would like you, my dear, to visit me tomorrow between 2 and 3 o’clock. I have already written a first article that I would like to send off before your second concert, and there might be something in it that may not please you; for this reason it is quite appropriate that I first talk with you.

Your friend H. Heine.”

Liszt's adoring female fans throw flowers at their beloved idol. Note the
unconscious female being held up by her male companion located in the
center of this contemporary illustration. Spontaneous bouts of syncope were
a common occurrence at any concert in which Liszt appeared.

The general consensus is that Heine was attempting to blackmail the wildly successful pianist by threatening to publish a scathing attack on Liszt’s music, his celebrity, even the musician himself before the second concert even took place. Heine's threat was clear: either pay up, or face a very public humiliation.

Liszt received the letter in a hasteful fashion, and, just as Meyerbeer would ten years later when he too was threatened - promptly dismissed both the letter and it’s author and left Heine without a reply – and without largesse.

Heine was incensed. The poet-turned-music-critic issued his attack in his periodical column (known as Feuilleton) lambasting the pianist, making mockery of his horde of fans – even going so far as to accuse Liszt of hyping up his own celebrity status by secretly purchasing his own bouquets and hiring flummoxed females to throw them on stage when he performed! 

Heine roundly finished off his vicious attack by predicting a spectacular fall from grace for Liszt - at one point, comparing what he viewed as the pianists' inevitable downfall to the expelled gas from the anus of a camel.

Yes. You read that correctly. 

A brutal excerpt of Heine’s March 1844 Feuilletons (published in the popular French periodical "Musikalische Berichte aus Paris") reads:

“When formerly I heard of the fainting spells which broke out in Germany and specially in Berlin, when Liszt showed himself there, I shrugged my shoulders pityingly and thought: quiet sabbatarian Germany does not wish to lose the opportunity of getting the little necessary exercise permitted it... In their case, thought I, it is a matter of the spectacle for the spectacle's sake...Thus I explained this Lisztomania… indeed, we must not examine too closely the homage which the famous virtuosos garner. After all, their day of vain celebrity is a very short one, and the hour soon strikes when the titan of tonal art may, perhaps, crumple into a town musician of very dwarfish stature, who, in the coffee-house which he frequents, tells the regular guests, on his word of honor, how bouquets of the most beautiful camelias were formerly flung at his feet, and how, once, two Hungarian countesses, in order to secure possession of his handkerchief, had cast themselves on the ground and fought until the blood ran. The day-long reputation of a virtuoso evaporates and dies away, empty, without a trace, like a camel's wind in the desert…"

Heine concluded his critique with a dose of cruel pessimism:

"The electrical action of a demoniac nature on a closely-crowded multitude, the infectious power of ecstasy, and, perhaps, the magnetism of music itself, this spiritual illness of the times, which vibrates in nearly all of us — these phenomena have never yet presented themselves to me in so clear and intimidating a manner as in Liszt's concert.”

Ouch.

Read Heine's full "pre-"view at archive.org: (from page 456)

Footnotes:

The music played at Liszt’s April concerts in Paris are now lost to the annals of anecdotal music history. Considering it was a solo recital for the pianist, Liszt may have performed his standard repertoire performed during his 1839-1847 series of concert tours. They included the maestro’s settings for piano the works of fellow composers, interspersed with some of Liszt’s own original compositions. Regular staples of this repertoire included (but were not limited to) the following transcriptions:

Chopin’s Etude; Rossini’s Guillame Tell Overture, Schubert’s Mélodies Hongroises;

original compositions usually included Liszt’s “rousing” encore favorite, his Grand Galop Chromatique in E-flat major, S.219 (performed below by the late Hungarian virtuoso pianist György Cziffra), his Fantasie on Robert le Diable (Meyerbeer); and his Réminiscences sur la Norma, a 1 one movement piano piece based on Bellini’s Norma.

Discover more about the life and exploits of Heinrich Heine (external link): 

• at Encyclopaedia Britannica
• an exhaustive list of works by Heine set to music at The Petrucci Music Library (IMSLP.org)

-Rose.

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