Researchers at the University of Catania in Sicily believe they have revealed the 'true face' of the city's former star resident, 18th century Italian composer Vincenzo Bellini following a joint study at the institution between two in-house research groups: that of Department of Electric, Electronic and Informatic Engineering and the Department of Mathematics and Computer Science.
Excerpt from study published in "Digital Applications in Archaeology and Cultural Heritage" vol. 17 e00144
showing the processes of subject verification using a 3D mesh of the wax mask made from an extant mould by Giordano (a) against the portrait by D'Agata (b). (C and D) are an overlay and projection, respectively.
. The study, dubbed "A method for similarity assessment between death masks and portraits through linear projection: the case of Vincenzo Bellini" sought to identify the closest likeness to the composer among a set of 14 known portraits of Bellini (each of them quite different - some vastly - due to both artistic and social conventions at the time of execution and/or the artist's technique), against a wax three-dimensional "death mask" formed by artist Salvo Giordanofrom a hitherto undiscovered mould presently housed in Catania's Bellini museum. The mask had previously undergone its own round of scientific scrutiny alongside two other known masks of Bellini, and had been designated the most representative of its subject. It was thus used as a reference for a morphometric comparison with the paintings.
Prior to the advent of facial recognition software and the implementation of advanced techniques within the field, identification of known or suspected sitters in portraiture were subject to authentication by 'experts' - the conclusions of which often incited much unresolved debate among scholars. By utilizing an ad-hoc labelling tool developed by the researchers to aid in their study ("Image Marker Pro," now available for download) the two groups are able to posit a closest possible likeness of Bellini - in the portrait by Angelo D'Agata - a copy of which is housed in the University museum (Museo dei Saperi e delle Mirabilia siciliane). It was then merged with the mask made by Giordano using the software.
Above: the IP Lab research group at Catania University analyze a 3D mesh of a wax mask of Bellini against a portrait of the composer painted by an unknown artist.
The lenghty study, printed in the June 2020 issue of the scientific journal Digital Applications in Archaeology and Cultural Heritage (vol. 17) may be read here. It should be noted that the portrait by D'Agata (b. 1842 - c. 1913) was a near-contemporary likeness, having been executed after the maestro's death (b. 1801 - 1835). The researchers at Catania consider this fact to be of "marginal" relevance to their study due to both the previous lack of positive identification of the sitter and the unknown artwork from which it was based, and its agreeable comparison to the "authenticated" death mask (the results of which provide incontrovertible proof that the subject in the portrait is indeed the same individual from whom the mould was cast).
According to the paper published in the scientific journal, a physical 3D reconstruction of Bellini's face, based on the newly fashioned render is forthcoming.
Listen below to one of the true queens of coloratura, Edita Gruberová sing an excerpt from the famous "mad scene" of Elvira in I puritani: the cabaletta, "Vien, diletto, è in ciel la luna" (1991, New York). Commissioned for the Théâtre-Italien, I Puritani was the last of Bellini's nine operas and his final work - he died in September 1835 at the age of 33 as a result of amoebic dysentery, just 8 months after the opera's premiere in Paris.
Today'sQuote of the Daycomes to us from 19th century composer and trailblazer of Russian opera and ballet Mikhail Glinka, as he reflects on the premiere production of Bel Cantist composer Vincenzo Bellini’s 1831 opera semiseria,La Sonnambula("The Sleepwalker"):
“…[in] the second act the singers themselves wept and carried the audience along with them.”
-Russian composer Mikhail Glinka .
It is easy to see why this influential Russian icon of classical music, duly revered as a master musician found himself and his peers bowled over by Bellini’s pastoral masterpiece. An instant success at it’s March 6th premiere in 1831, La Sonnambula continues to draw both high praise and invoke unbridled displays of emotion even today – most notably during the opera’s second act which features the tender ariaAh! non credea mirarti, Sì presto estinto, o fiore ("I did not believe you would fade so soon, oh flower") as sung by the sleepwalker herself,Amina. So beloved was Amina’s impassioned display of sorrow, the composer Bellini himself felt moved to have prepared for his own tombstone the doleful lyrics – the inscription can be viewed at his gravesite in Sicily at the Catania Cathedral.
Ah! Non Credea Mirarti...certainly finds itself at the top of my list of most beautiful arias of all time. Enjoy below my personal favorite rendition of the piece, as sung by mezzo-soprano[1]Cecilia Bartoli,featuring the Peruvian tenor Juan Diego Flórez:
[1]Whilst the role of Amina was originally created for a soprano (the original Amina, Giuditta Pasta was described by some as possessing that of a soprano sfogato voice) and has through posterity been recorded numerous times by the soprano voice, it is in the 2010 recording by Bartoli, a leading mezzo-soprano, that I find myself most moved. The recording above is from Bartoli’s exquisite album “Sospiri” (literally, “sighs”) in which the dynamic diva adds the subtle, yet strikingly effective affect to tenderize an already flawless gem.
As the literary and music world collectively commemorates the life of poet and playwright William Shakespeare, who left this earthly sphere 400 years ago today,unravelingmusicalmyths has selected for the reader 5 of the most beautiful and impacting arias and orchestral masterpieces inspired by the “Bard of Avon” from the world of classical music.[1]
I)“AVE MARIA” OTELLO – GIUSEPPE VERDI
This 4-act opera based on Shakespeare’s “Othello” would be Verdi’s penultimate work in this arena. The musical adaptation of Shakespeare’s famous play would also be one of fellow composer Arigo Boito’s crowning achievements as librettist for the opera. I have selected for this aria an early recording from a young Anna Netrebko. I far prefer a more mature Netrebko with a richer, fuller voice, but in this recording, her lighter vocal lustre somehow seems to work for Desdemona as she begins to pray to the Holy Mother a tender lament:
II)“HOW SWEET THE MOONLIGHT” – THE MERCHANT OF VENICE – JOCELYN POOK
The University of Pisa has announced the occurence of a free-admission roundtable meeting this Wednesday, November 28, 2018 at the Centro Congressi Le Benedettine to discuss 19th century Hungarian composer and pianist Franz Lizst's time in Tuscany's prized city - specifically, the occurrence of a solo recital by the musician that may predate his first known performance of its kind, historically believed to have been held at the Hanover Square Rooms in London in 1840.[1]
*CLICK TO ENLARGE* Invitation/RSVP infomation for roundtable
Word of a game-changing discovery was first revealed by musicologist Mariateresa Storino in July of this year, whospoke with faculty at the University of“documents related”to the discovery of a Graf fortepiano (containing within hitherto unknown documents) believed to have been played by Liszt, which had been in the possession of one Cardella family. According to her research, the unspecified documents will conclude“for the first time”a clear corroboration with the written testimony of the musician’s one time travel companion and mother to his three children (including Cosima, who would marry Richard Wagner) the Countess Marie D’Agoult, who placed him in Pisa in March, 1839.[2]
These elusive documents, which have yet to be revealed on the international circuit, are the end result of a two year long research project, set up as a competition (with the granting of a research award as the prize) by theCenter for the Dissemination of Culture and Musical Practiceat the University. The project was led by Storino and funded by the educational institution and the Agenzia Generale UnipolSAI divisione SAI di Pisa.
Wednesday's panel discussion, which will begin at 9:30, will be led by a four-member committee consitisting of musicologists and Liszt scholars Alessandro Cecchi, Maria Antonella Galanti, Maurizio Sbrana and Mariateresa Storinounder the patronage of the Liszt Institute Foundation, Bologna and the Italian Society of Musicology. RSVP information can be found by enlarging the graphic above, or by clicking the PDF file listed at the bottom of this post under "External links."
[1]The Hanover recital occured on Tuesday, June 9, 1840. According to a contemporary advertisement announcing the impending concert, Liszt performed the following works, in the following order: 1) the Scherzo and Finale of Beethoven's "Pastorale" Symphony; 2) Schubert's Serenade; 3) Ave Maria, by Schubert [sic]; 4) Hexaméron (variations on the Grand March in Bellini's I Puritani); 5) Neapolitan Tarantelles [sic], and 6) Liszt's Grand Galop Chromatique. Tickets were sold for 10s. 6d each, with reserved seats near the pianoforte at 21s.
[2]What we know so far: According to Dr. Storino's extensive research, the alleged concert which took place in Pisa occurred in the small Teatro della Soffitta (adjacent the Palazzo Mazzarosa in Lungarno Pacinotti) during Liszt's time in Italy. A "random" discovery of the Graf fortepiano, which contained inside writings by various unknown persons - all of them traceable to the concert of 1839 - directly corroborated the written testimonies of the Countess d'Agoult, who accompanied Liszt to Italy and may have been present at the performance in question. Aided by these new documents, Storino was able to uncover hitherto unknown newspaper articles, manuscripts and other related documents which support her case, and which will "conclusively" answer questions pertaining to the composer's activities in Italy, of which many aspects have hitherto remained unexplored.
This thoroughly unflattering depiction of a screeching viking-esque soprano may have it's origins in an early
production of Richard Wagner's epic Der Ring des Nibelungen, a mammoth four part opera cycle featuring the
character of Brünnhilde, a sheild-maiden and Valkyrie
of Norse mythology. Wagner's productions were
notoriously behemoth in scope, and it is from these factors
that the legend of an equally robust performer belting out
stratospherically rotund arias likely first attracted critics of the composer, and eventually, of the art form of Opera itself.
Have a friend who thinks Opera is nothing but prim and proper ladies and stuffy old louts watching overweight Primadonnas bound about the stage in nothing but breast armor and Viking caps? Show them that both performers and creators in the world of Opera (and indeed, it's audiences) can get just asdown and dirty with the rest of them as we remove the pomp from the circumstance with these salacious tales of Mayhem Behind The Music.
Below you will find a cornucopia of anecdotal tales of yore interspersed with comical musings, mishaps and superstitions, snarky commentary (courtesy of competitive composers whose behavior is anything but proper), and for good measure, a fair share of drunkards, playboys and murderesses. We begin backstage, at an unnamed theatre’s production of Bellini’s Norma, an tragedia lirica consisting of an ill-fated Druid-Roman romance - one that was now tempting the gods with an offering of opera buffa for the course.
This delightfully comical anecdote was regaled in author Stephen Tanner’s Opera Antics and Anecdotes:
A caricature of Falstaff
“One hour before curtain time the 230-pound soprano for Norma cancelled. Her slim, trim sub was hurriedly escorted to the makeup and costume departments, where it turned out her costume had vanished. The only costume available was that of the 230-pounder designed by Omar the Tentmaker. It was six sizes too large and particularly baggy in the chest area. Since needle and thread and safety pins couldn't do the chest job, the costume lady shouted at the sub, "Go as fast as you can up to the prop room and ask for prop number 77, shove it down the top of your dress, and scamper back here as fast as you can. It's curtain time in ten minutes!" Minutes later, the soprano was back, out of breath and looking very unhappy, a large piece of sponge rubber stuck out of her dress, bulging up under her chin. "Oh, my God!" screamed the costume lady, "I said prop 77, not 79! That's Falstaff's behind!"
Fans of Miguel de Cervantes’Don Quixote will enjoy the following anecdote as re-told by Hugh Vickers in his hilarious book Great Operatic Disasters. Cervantes' enthusiasts are sure to remember a certain squire Sancho suffering a similar fate in the celebrated Spanish classic:
Vickers' humorous depiction of the
bounding soprano as illustrated
in Great Operatic Disasters.
"This catastrophe is - delightfully - due entirely to ill-will, in this case between the stage staff & the soprano. With diabolical cunning, they permitted her, after several stormy rehearsals, to complete her first performance without mishap until the very last moment, when Tosca throws herself off the battlements of the Castel Sant'Angelo. What normally happens is that on her cry, 'O Scarpia, davanti a Dio' she hurls herself off & lands on a mattress four feet below (who but Callas has ever looked totally convincing at that moment? - Her outstretched hands haunt the memory). But in this case it was not Callas but a large young American who landed, not on a mattress, but - perish the thought - on a trampoline. It is said that she came up fifteen times before the curtain fell - sometimes upside down, then the right way up - now laughing in delirious glee, now screaming with rage ... Worse still, it seems that the unhappy lady was unable to reappear in any other Opera Center performance throughout the entire season because the Center's faithful audience, remembering the trampoline, would have burst into laughter. She had to remove herself to San Francisco, where of course no such grotesque incident could possibly occur."
Stravinsky's premiere production of Le Sacre du Printemps was
notoriously chaotic to the point of violence. Police had to be
called to break up the many brawls that broke out amongst
audience members who were so thoroughly enraged
with the Composer, his choreographer Vaslav Nijinsky, and with
eachother. It was an evening Parisian society would not
soon forget.
Such comical catastrophes were not exclusive only to performers of the Classical arts, but also to their patrons. We all remember hearing about the May 1913 premiere of Stravinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps, dubbed by the press as the ‘Riot at the Rite’ (and as regaled here on unravelingmusicalmyths in my post on the notoriously chaotic premiere) - but, beyond the cat-calls, hissing and throwing of veggies (and fists), you may not have heard about a particular audience member, who was so riled up by the shocking performance and it’s jarring rhythms, that journalist Carl van Vechten would report being made the personal timpani of said audience member, who
“began to beat rhythmically on top of my head!”
Now that is one way to offer a unique critique - a scathing commentary on music deemed garrulous and uncouth, unfit for Parisian upper-crust society - and all of it offered without ever having to utter a word! Quite unlike the following composers, who took competition to a very dark place -mud-slinging at contemporary musicians with the skill of a discus-hurling Olympian:
Perhaps in an effort to beat would-be critics to the punch, the following musicians dabbled in the art of self-deprecation (of the hilarious variety): Conductor extraordinaire and my personal maestro preferito would, true to his reputation as an uncharacteristically insecure recluse for someone of such genius, pen the following discourse on what I like to call "talent-dysmorphia" in a rare series of letters to a then-budding conductor Charles Barber (as printed in Barbers’ Corresponding with Carlos:)
My most loved conductor, Carlos Kleiber.
“I am sorry to say: I hardly conduct at all; so that would mean you would be totally hors d’oeuvre (out of work) and horrified at my lack of interest, energy, initiative, and so forth … I’m a real mess, actually. Don’t tell anyone, please.” Yours Sincerely Carlos Kleiber
Speaking of erroneous quotes and letters, composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was famous for his correspondence with family and friends. In the quote below, a young Mozart shares with his bride Constanze, the beast hiding within his usually comical exterior:
Austrian composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart would, throughout the course of his travels and career,
pen many letters, which, as we will see further down in this post, showcased a very boy-like and
somewhat crude personality and sense of humor.
and who could forget Johann Sebastian Bach, who famously declared:
It is obvious to any fan of the Classical genre that such displays of self-inflicted aspersions were entirely disproportionate to the talents of the above mentioned artists. A little humility, however, often does go a long way - and for the likes of Kleiber, Bach and Mozart, posterity has seen to it that such displays of self-deprecation are no match for the astounding oeuvres put forth by each artist, rendering any such commentary as the ramblings of an ingenious eccentric. While we are on the topic of humility, as the old colloquial expression states: "A little humilitycould have beenprecisely what the doctor ordered" rings true for the following singers, who proved to be a tad too big for their britches: We begin with the Serbian mezzo-soprano Dragana Jugovic, the so-called “Drunk Carmen”, who, to the horror of tenor Alexei Steblianko, and indeed the entire attending audience at a concert performance featuring the works of French composer Georges Bizet, had a little too much to drink before curtain call and wound up slurring and swaying her way though a rendition of the final duet "C'est Toi!" from Bizet’s famously recitative-infused opera Carmen, with a shrieking vocal ability ghastly enough to shatter glass. Whoever said “the show must go on without exception" clearly never saw this:
..and who could forget the American socialite Florence Foster Jenkins, who was so impressed by her vocal gifts that she once proclaimed to a taxi driver following a near fatal collision that her screaming upon impact was an offering from the heavens, sending him a letter of thanks for improving her “high C’s!” Whether Ms. Jenkins was aware of the mockery made of her seemingly oblivious ability to sing in key or hold a note, or perhaps, just didn’t care, it didn't stop the ever-wobbly soprano from using the funds obtained from an inheritance given to her by her late father to establish ‘The Verdi Club’, using her new-found fortune and status to mingle in musical circles. Jenkins did indeed see notoriety in her lifetime - as an object of satire and jest.
"Murder on the High C's": a
Florence Foster Jenkins Production.
Posterity has been no kinder to the unobservant soprano: a posthumous album would be released with the aptly (and hilariously) named title of “Murder on the High C’s”. The most familiar source of mockery when it comes to Florence Foster Jenkins was her horrifying rendition of Mozart’s "DerHölleRache” from Die Zauberflote, widely considered to date to be one of opera’s most difficult and demanding arias, and is certainly not for the faint-of-heart performer. Jenkins, however, believed she had it nailed:
Compare Foster Jenkins (at left), with virtuosic coloratura Queen (and my personal favorite in this
role) Cristina Deutekom (at right).
It is difficult, in today’s social-media infused world, to imagine any performer with the - gifts? - of Foster-Jenkins living in such thoroughly oblivious bliss. Even the most adroit modern performer has a rough night or two. Depending on where the performance is taking place, audiences range from the (usually) kind and appreciative to downright crass and castrating (as can be commonly witnessed amongst patrons of the Teatro Alla Scala in Milan). It was here that tenor Roberto Alagna lost his composure after being heckled by the audience following a slightly overabundant use of vibrato. The cumbersome audience, erupting in a well-timed chorus of boos was astonished when Alagna responded to the vocal critics by serving them with a heaping portion of their just desserts. In a display of overabundant confidence (and perhaps a soupçon of cockiness) Alagna satisfied the secret wishes of sopranos and tenors everywhere who had also suffered the diminutive hissing of the audience at La Scala when he defiantly held up his fist high in the air, delivering a mocking shake - a gesture that could easily be deconstructed to express the sentiment “screw you!” before he angrily stormed off the stage. It was a grand gesture, and an even grander exit - well, at least it would have been: the flustered Alagna, so caught up in rage - had stormed off to the wrong side of the stage! In what could only be described as in a state of utter mortification, the disgraced tenor had to do an abrupt-foot: turning a full 180 as he sulkingly marched off to the exit at stage right.
Talk about a walk of shame!
Things weren’t always fun and games for fellow singers or the composers that inspired them. Below you will find a series of superstitions, obsessive compulsions and so-called ‘carnal sins’ that are so salacious they alone could be the basis of a tragedie lyrique themselves:
SUPERSTITIONS:
Luciano Pavarotti and his handkerchief
Tenor Luciano Pavarotti was well known for his powerful vocal prowess and captivating stage presence. So adept at his craft was Luciano, that few were aware the behemoth legend suffered from an almost crippling case of stage-fright that would endure until the end of his operatic career. In an effort to combat this, Pavarotti is said to have clutched a handkerchief in his hands during his solo performances, which he would use as a tension ball during his high notes!
Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Russian composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky was also plagued by stage fright, and would take excessive measures to try to temper his frazzled nerves. It is believed the composer (and sometime conductor) would only conduct with his right hand - his left hand was to be designated for his chin, which he would hold “propped up” in the fear that his head would “fall sideways” during one of his terror-induced dizzy spells (some autobiographies on the composer take this one step further, suggesting Tchaikovsky was trying to prevent his head from falling completely off!)
Niccolò Paganini: the soul-less virutoso
Not to be outdone by the superstitious measures of operatic successors Tchaikovsky and Pavarotti, a prolific violinist and composer living in the late 18th and 19th century by the name of Niccolò Paganini stirred up a witch’s brew of superstition of a whole different sort, when he took a page from Goethe’s epic masterpiece Faust, and convinced an entire audience that he had “sold his soul to the devil” in exchange for his virtuosic gifts.
Well tuned to the gossip of Italy’s elite patrons of classical music, Paganini would take to his violin prior to each sell-out performance, sawing intothree of it's four strings - not too far - just enough for the gifted violinist to make it partway through a performance before the sabotaged strings would snap under the pressure of the bow - at which point the devious musician would finish the tune on one string, much to the appeasement of an already impressed audience. Needless to say, Paganini made a pretty penny as a travelling supernatural performer. Five years following the death of Paganini, the superstitious fans of the late violinist, who were prone to fits of fainting and bouts of extended reverie would find themselves overshadowed by another group of superstitious Neapolitans.
Verdi, according to a group of Neapolitan
occultists, may have been victim of the
cursèd "Evil Eye".
The fanatical group in question would serve, collectively, as unofficial bodyguard to Italian composer Giuseppe Verdi, when, following a disastrous debut of his early opera Alzira, local admirers of the composer deemed the work to have been cursed. So protective was this group of mugumbo dissenters, Verdi would find himself stalked (and close to the heel, at that) by the group, who would appear while the composer went out to dine, at performances he’d attend or conduct - even at his private residence. Growing increasingly frustrated at his lack of privacy, Verdi is alleged to have inquired of this single-cell ameoba exactly what their end-game was. Much to his surprise, the small operatic militia revealed a theory of fantastical proportions: Alzira, it seems, had been afflicted with the “Evil Eye” - a curse inflicted upon the opera and it’s composer by a jealous rival, musician Vincenzo Capecelatro at it's backstage premiere by shaking his rival’s hands before curtain call. The malocchio, it was believed, would manifest itself on any future compositions of the cursed composer should Capecelatro make it a point to attend the performances. Acting as an unofficial bodyguard service to Verdi, the fanatical group would see to it that such an occurrence never happened. As ludicrous as Verdi found these superstitions, a series of coincidental events would seem to give the group a shading of clout, when, at a different premiere, the attending audience found themselves on their feet in ovation, such was their pleasure at Verdi’s latest production. Suddenly, and without warning, the composer found himself being bear-hugged from behind by a mysterious stranger. The ‘attack’ was so sudden, the startled composer jumped back several paces before turning to face the man who had so surprised him with such an abrupt embrace: it was none other than Capecelatro! At that precise moment, a not-insignificant sized piece of the set broke off and came hurtling toward the stage, crash-landing at the exact spot Verdi had just leapt from! One can only imagine what the bodyguards thought - and what Verdi himself must have thought at surviving such a close call.
The above mentioned tales of calamity are but just the tip of the monumentally chaotic mountain that is classical music. From composers shying away from authoring or composing (as in the case of Franz Schubert) a ‘ninth symphony’ in fears of joining the so-called ‘curse of the ninth club’ (one in which famous composers such as Mahler, Ralph Vaughan Williams and Beethoven fell victim to unexpected and untimely deaths at or after composing a ninth symphony), to the playboy adventures of baroque men-about-town like composers Jean-Marie LeClair and Alessandro Stradella, each of whom are believed to have been murdered by former lovers and scorned wives. Then there are the composers who just missed utter catastrophe, such as in the case of French Romantic composer Hector Berlioz, who narrowly escaped a suicide attempt following the rejection of his current idée-fixe, a young doyenne named Camile, who had begun an affair with another in the period during her infatuated boyfriend’s absence (Berlioz was off to study in Rome, leaving his ladylove back in Paris).
The eccentric Hector Berlioz was a
known proponent and fan of the
psychedelic effects of Opium, and
would compose the 'Symphonie
Fantastique' (arguably his best work)
under it's influence.
So infuriated was Hector when he caught wind of the philanderers, it is said the obsessed composer set out to orchestrate a murder-suicide! Berlioz dressed himself in drag and boarded a train home, his fully loaded pistol in hand (or, in purse). It seems the frazzled Casanova had composed himself on the long ride home - at least enough to call off the murder. He presently had a solution for his still bereaved heart: he would drown himself by jumping abandonely into the Mediterranean Ocean. Fortunately for the annals of music history, he was quickly recovered from the chilly waters. Berlioz was no stranger to such obsessions of the heart - he would later (somewhat more successfully) attempt to lure into his romantic graces another young coquette by composing an entire symphony for his latest idée-fixe: one Harriet Smithson, who he wooed with a nearly fifty minute ode to his unyielding affections, complete with a deranged scene of Witches celebrating a dark Sabbath. It is believed the high strung Berlioz composed the work under the influence of Opium.
The castrato that never was:
Joseph Haydn.
Internationally renowned composer Joseph Haydn would himself avert catastrophe, when he, as a young virtuosic soprano (now commonly known as a treble) was approached by the church in which he performed with an offering of castration - a practice not uncommon in 18th century Italy, where the vocal agility of the young male soprano was so highly prized many a young boy would endure the procedure to ensure an ever-lasting high range that would endure throughout adulthood). It seems no one had bothered to ask his father, who quickly prohibited the procedure as soon as he caught wind of it.
I will end this post, which could take up an entire website (so numerous are such comic reliefs and tales of woe in the world of Opera and Classical Music) by leaving the reader with the following gems:
MOZART’S FILTHY MIND:
Mozart’s letters, considered so vulgar they had to be censored at first publication (and this is not to be taken as merely a sign of conservative times - some of the content contained in the composer’s correspondence is so graphic and vulgar, I hesitate to relay them even here! Let’s just say, ‘Wolfie’ had a penchant for humor of the scatological sort - once penning a letter to his cousin Maria Anna Thekla Mozart in which he describes, in explicit detail, a want to relieve himself of certain bodily functions on the face of his "Cozz Buzz” (a nickname Mozart employed for his favorite cousin). I will leave it to the reader to use his or her imagination. Such commentary by Mozart was rampant in his many letters, and was a humor shared even by his mother, who was no prude herself to risquée comedy!
(To read more about Mozart's dirty ditties, check out my post on Wolfgang here). COMEDIAN & CELEBRATED PIANIST VICTOR BORGE'S HILARIOUS 'PRODUCTIONS': This talented comedian had an especially delicious knack for stripping from the world of Opera it’s pretentious reputation:
PAUL DRAYTON’S COMICAL (& QUITE APT) DISPLAY OF THE EGOISTIC COMPOSERS OF YORE - AS SUNG BY BRITISH A CAPELLA TROUPE ‘THE KING’S SINGERS’:
Today we celebrate the 206th anniversary of the birth of Frédéric Chopin,Poland’s chosen son and virtuosic pianist who left an indelible mark on 19th century classical music, a prolific influence on both contemporary and future iconic masters of the piano, and who, quite literally, left his heart in Warsaw and and the soil of his motherland in Paris[1]– and who ultimately bequeathed to Western Classical Music an inspired legacy that continues to permeate through the ages across the globe to this very day. The Polish and French (by paternal citizenship) pianist would perform at his first concert at the tender (and quite impressive) age of eight. A true wonderchild,Chopin’s aesthetic and skill as a musician and composer (he had already penned the Polonaise in G Minor at the age of seven!) would accomplish renown though acquiring both royal and aristocratic favor on a rapidly uphill march toward musical infamy. By the age of eleven, the pianist had already performed before the Tsar of Russia (Alexander I) and had composed a march for the Ruler of Russian Poland, Grand Duke Constantine. By 1830, Chopin (then Fryderyk) would become a Polish émigré in France, at the height of the nation’s Romantic movement, rubbing shoulders with composers of the ilk of Franz Liszt,Felix Mendelssohn, belcanto specialist Vincenzo Bellini and the French composer Hector Berlioz, all of whom idolized the Polish Immigrant, and where he would lead a lucrative (most impressive for that period) living as a composer and music teacher to students of affluence, quite rapidly earning for himself a distinction as a highly skilled and notable French composer and icon of the Romantic era. Today, the music of Chopin continues to experience unyielding critical acclaim and worldwide recognition. His selection of preludes,impromptus,mazurkas,études,waltzes and polonaises hold their place as some of the most instantly recognizable music of the Western Classical repertoire, even making a historic trip into space in February of 2010 upon the Space Shuttle Endeavour, who’s commander, George Zamka, proclaimed the presence of the music of fellow Pole Chopin aboard the shuttle would“enhance the majesty of the cosmos.”
Indeed. As his legacy so clearly suggests, the music of Frédéric Chopin certainly does seem to transcend both space and time.
Footnotes:
[1]Chopin, ever loyal to his beloved Poland, would carry with him to France a handful of soil from his birthplace of Warsaw, which he had sealed in a urn and which would later be buried alongside the composer at his death from Tuberculosis at Paris in October of 1849. Both Chopin and the urn lay at rest at Le Père Lachaise Cemetery in France. Likewise, the beloved pianist’s heart lay in his native Motherland, preserved in a crystal urn containing Cognac, brought to Poland’s Church of the Holy Cross in Warsaw, at the composer’s bequest prior to his passing by his sister shortly after his death. Inscribed on a church pillar is a biblical verse from the Book of Matthew, 6:21: “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
[2]...depicting the Space Shuttle Endeavour's flight into orbit in February 2010. On board was a CD of music by Chopin, and, for good measure, a copy of a manuscript of the composer's Prelude Opus 28, No. VII. The DVD (with CD) can be found on Amazon.
The February 8th, 2010 launch into orbit (Mission STS-130 to the International Space Station), complete with the music of Chopin combined the best of both ‘worlds’ for fellow space enthusiasts and melophiles stuck back on Earth: it is my position that mankind’s foray both into the heavens and into the realms of classical music and opera exceed that which we ought to have been capable. Both sciences (as I believe music to be) begin quite briefly at the very pinnacle of human reason and understanding before rapidly shattering their way through every existing boundary known to man, reaching ever-higher, stratosphericheights, leaving us goose-fleshed,breathless – in awe of what can only be described as superhuman acheivement.
“Chopin’s Mission” (that’s what I’m calling it) into space reminds me of one of my most beloved quotes, this one by conductor Mariss Jansons,on classical music and it’s relative cohesion with the heavens:
“Why do I call this a ‘cosmic level?' Because when you leave the earth, when you escape the earth’s orbit, magnetism and gravity – then you are in the cosmos: and it is the same in music. If you can get there, you are in heaven.”
As Canadians look to the long weekend to celebrate the ‘birth’ of the nation’s former Head of State,celebrated annually in the country on the last Monday preceding the 25th (the ‘actual’ date of birth of the 19th century British monarch Queen Victoria), I - a Canadian-born citizen - am reminded of our much beloved former ruler’s penchant for beautiful music, and her role aspatronessto the celebrated French-Canadian operatic soprano, Emma Albani.
Of course, Victoria’s association with the musical arts goes far beyond the mere stewardship of this national idol. The Queen famously patronized an up-and-coming Edward Elgar, who would go onto serve as Master of the King’s Musik under Victoria’s grandson, King George V, and helped a strugglingJohann Strauss(the elder) resurface from the depths of a dismal abyss that threatened to erase the composer from the pages of London's historical almanac before his career in the English capital could even get started.
The musically literate monarch famously wed German Prince Albert of Saxe-Gotha – a royal consort who openly admitted he’d rather have spent a life solely in the pursuit of music than as a slave to the monarchy. Together, they would host private soirées with the composerFelix Mendelssohn, of whom Victoria in particular found herself enamored (a feeling that was more than mutual). Together, the threesome would engage in song - perhaps now singing a lied penned by Albert, and then, on another occasion, improvising on the piano - each taking turns performing on the instrument (a favorite piece being an arrangement of Felix Mendelssohn’sLieder ohne Worte, or, Songs Without Words, Op. 85, No. 6),[1] which both husband and wife could play together whilst the composer of the work looked on in amusement. Victoria’s contributions to realm and stage weren’t solely relegated to Great Britain. She also extended much generosity and gratitude to Canada and the Commonwealth: Canada both revered and honored their Queen – many times over: her name would become permanently fixed on provincial city titles and on both major and minor roadways and streets; and her wishes to permanently designate and name the nation’s Capital as"Ottawa"was granted without discourse. Her very namesake would become affectionised: following the country’s Confederation in July of 1867, during which the monarch still occupied the throne, our“Queen Victoria”became known colloquially as the“Mother of Confederation.”
Emma Albani
There is one Canadian in particular who owed much of her success and livelihood to the Queen. She wasMarie-Louise-Emma-Cécile Lajeunesseof Chambly (in present day Quebec) – laterDame Emma Albanifollowing a name change (to sound more English) and an entrance into knighthood under King George V(grandson to Victoria and Albert) in 1925. An undisputed favorite of the Queen, Albani would make herself available for her royal patron's beck and call – and, it seems, Victoria ‘called’ often: after a brief, yet successful run in Messina (Sicily), Emma would turn her sights to London.
Following her debut as Amina in Vincenzo Bellini’sLa Sonnambula in 1872 and a brief stint in St. Petersburg, the blossoming chanteuse came to the attention of Queen Victoria, who had undoubtedly heard of the singer’s recent success in Russia (it is said the Tsar Alexander II was present in the audience during one of her performances) and wished to hear for herself this crown jewel of French Canada. The Queen would invite Albani to her royal lodgings at Windsor castleto perform before her in a private setting. To visit the monarch meant that Emma would have to forgo the upcoming season at Covent Garden where she was currently riding the wave of newfound success in the English capital. She decided the trade-off was worth it: throwing caution to the wind, she traveled west to Windsor to serenade the Queen. On the musical menu were arias, both sacred and secular (and folk) song, and local popular music: "Caro nome" from Verdi’s Rigoletto, the folk ballad "Robin Adair,"Bach/Gounod’s arrangement of "Ave Maria," and the popular song "Home! Sweet Home!" Victoria was sufficiently pleased by the starlet – enough to invite her back to Windsor Castle to perform a repertoire especially chosen by the monarch herself: works by Johannes Brahms,Edvard Grieg,George Frederic Handel andFelix Mendelssohn – to be peppered with traditional French and Scottish compositions – in essence, whatever best suited her royal fancy.
Final portrait of Queen Victoria
Albani's appearances at the Windsor court would help solidify her status as Canada’s first international vocal performer, and secure her place at the very top of the hierarchical pyramid which represented the elite soprani of 19th and 20th century Western Classical music. Victoria’s favoritism of the Canadian vocalist would prove most unyielding: together the two would greet their golden years, with a fifty-something Albani privately serenading an octogenarian Victoria – again at Windsor - always at Windsor – in 1898 with Wagner (as Elsa from Lohengrin). This performance in particular, would in fact reveal the true depths of the ladies’ mutual adulation: it would be one of the last – if not the last – vocal performances received by the Queen whilst she was still living, and the appearance at the side of her most loyal employer would cement Albani’s place card at the monarch’s royal funeral 3 years later in 1901, when the celebrated singer performed solo – an endearing tribute to the patron and friend of both Canada and chanteuse.
Listen below to an early wax cylinder recording (c. 1903) of Emma Albani (56) performing Handel’s famous aria Ombra Mai Fu from the composers’ 1738 opera Xerxes. It is a distinct possibility the whimsical aria was one of the works by Handel performed by the singer before the Queen during her first arrival at Windsor Castle in 1874:
Did You Know?
Queen Victoria laying the foundation stone at Royal Albert Hall in London
On this 20th day of May in the year of our Confederation, Canada’s Queen Victoria was busy on her own home turf at Kensington in London, laying down the foundation stone on a site that would grow to become that most prestigious of concert halls, theRoyal Albert Hall.
Victoria, who had ceremoniously arrived to much fanfare (before a crowd of some 7,000 monarchists who had gathered under a massive marquee especially erected for her arrival), is said to have employed agolden trowelto lay the stone. As a thoughtful gesture to future generations, Her Royal Highnessslipped underneath the stone a ‘time capsule’ made of glass, in which she had inserted a private inscription, and, for good measure, a quantity of both gold and silver coins.
The ceremony itself was a much fêted event for both monarch and civilian: just prior to laying the stone, Queen Victoria had been greeted not only by a very vocal and adoring crowd, but also a 21-gun salute at Hyde Park (which, along with the trumpet fanfare - performed byHM guards - that immediately followed, echoed through the crowd). A performance of her husband’s (Prince Albert) composition “Invocation to Harmony,”led by the esteemed conductor and Italian émigréMichael Costaand a Benediction delivered by theArchbishop of Canterbury were also performed for the monarch at the ceremony.
Addressing the crowd, the much admired Queen of Great Britain and the Commonwealth proclaimed the site“Royal Albert Hall of Arts and Sciences:”
“It is my wish that this Hall should bear his name to whom it will have owed its existence and be called The Royal Albert Hall of Arts and Sciences”
-Queen Victoria, South Kensington, London, May 20, 1867
Learn more about the laying of the stone and Victoria (and find out where in the venue you can take a peek at the stone itself) at royalalberthall.com.
Footnotes:
[1]The solo version of Lieder Ohne Worte, Op. 85, no. VI comes from the collection's 7th book. The manuscript for the "duet" version, arranged for Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, titled"Lied ohne Worte für das Piano vierhändig" (Song Without Words as a Piano Duet), is currently in the collection of the Royal Trust under Queen Elizabeth II. View it here.
