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Rinaldo; Radiohead & Company; La Gioconda; No Opera for Oil; 1,000,000

Several new recordings appeared in our mailbox recently. None of them of were American operas, but as part of USOPERAWEB’s efforts to expand our coverage, we’re going to tell you about four of them anyway. (We’re always mindful of Gertrude Stein’s observation that the more flexible structures were the ones that survived the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.)

The opinions stated herein are those of the writer and definitely reflect the editorial positions and viewpoints of USOPERAWEB.

A jubilant sound

Documentation of the life of Georg Friederich Händel (1685-1759) is sparse. We know he was born in Halle, Germany, to a Lutheran preacher’s daughter and a barber-surgeon in the service of the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels. Papa Händel discouraged his son’s interest in music, leaving Händel to practice the clavichord secretly in the attic. But the Duke heard Händel play and persuaded his father to allow him to study music. When Händel was 12, his father died. As the sole surviving male of the household Händel would have been expected to assume responsibility for its support (although any impediment to the study of music was no doubt removed) and so in 1702, he entered the University of Halle, probably to study law. He was appointed organist at Cathedral Church the same year and, for whatever unrecorded reason, began to pursue his destiny as a musician. Also in 1702 (probably), he visited Berlin where he saw several Italian operas performed.

Händel left home in 1703 and traveled to Hamburg, home to Germany’s only resident opera company outside the courts. He played violin and eventually harpsichord in the opera orchestra and met Reinhard Keiser, the city’s leading opera composer. In 1705, when Keiser was unable to provide the company with a new opera, Händel composed Almira (written to a libretto originally given to Keiser), which was such a success at its premiere it was performed 19 times subsequently. This led to the commission of another opera, Nero, which was not a success.

While in Hamburg, Händel met influential Italian composers and benefactors and probably heard from them about the thriving opera scene in Italy. In 1706, he left Hamburg to witness Italian opera firsthand, traveling to Florence and then Rome, where he spent the better part of a year composing sacred music. His first Italian opera, Rodrigo, premiered in Florence in 1707; but it was his second, Agrippina, which debuted in Venice in 1909, that proved Händel’s talent for the lyric theater.

Händel left Italy in 1710 and after sojourns in Hanover and DüsseIdorf arrived in London, where he would spend the remainder of his life. The city was crazy for Italian opera (particularly Italian castrati) and within months Händel gave them their first original Italian work. Rinaldo premiered at the Queen’s Theatre in the Haymarket on February 24, 1711. It was an immediate success and was revived in three subsequent seasons.

The story of Rinaldo comes from Torquato Tasso’s Gerusalemme liberata, a poem that extolls the superiority of Christianity. Giacomo Rossi wrote the libretto, after a scenario by theater manager, Aaron Hill. The Christian army, headed by Goffredo (the historical Godfrey of Bouillon) attempts to take Jerusalem, which is guarded by its king, Argante, and the queen of Damascus (and a sorceress), Armida. Goffredo offers Rinaldo the hand of his daughter, Almirena, if Rinaldo will join the Christian campaign. Armida and Argante attempt to save the city but are defeated by the Christians. Rinaldo marries Almirena; Argante and Armida convert to Christianity.

Conductor René Jacobs writes in the notes for Harmonia Mundi’s new recording, “Rinaldo is entertainment in the best sense of the word. The story serves as a pretext for virtuoso vocal numbers, spectacular stage effects and brilliant orchestral pieces—all of this as brightly coloured as possible, and, when necessary, deliberately illogical. Opera was in any case an irrational drug for a rationally minded age.”

Händel’s Rinaldo orchestra is the most extravagant of all his operas—4 recorders, 2 oboes, 4 bassoons, 4 trumpets, a battery of percussion and 2 harpsichords—and there are plenty of instrumental numbers in which it is put to use. There is music for the arrival and departure of various royal transport; music to accompany the marching of armies; music for the fighting of battles. In Armida’s vengeance aria, “Vo far guerra” (I will wage war), Händel provided the harpsichordist with opportunities for lengthy cadenzas; at the opera’s premiere, the composer himself showed off his improvisational skills for his new hometown.

Special effects are in no short supply either. Chariots fly through the air pulled by fire-breathing dragons; hordes of monsters guarding Armida’s castle emit smoke and flames; a mountain is transformed into a stormy sea; an enchanted garden becomes a barren desert. There are thunder and lightening, fireworks, and even a flock of live birds.

Jacobs and Company’s new recording of Rinaldo is spectacular. The troop has committed to posterity a passionate and visceral performance. Vivica Genaux is dramatically commanding and vocally resounding as the title role. She savors Rinaldo’s lyric moments and sails with confidence over the role’s florid passages. Her rendition of “Cara sposa” (My dear love, where are you?), goes straight to the heart and her singing of Rinaldo’s heroic arias, the Act I finale, “Venti, turbini” (Winds, whirlwinds, lend your wings to my feet), and “Or la tromba” (The trumpet summons me to triumph) in Act III, for example, is triumphant.

From her first entrance, “Furie terribili” (Fearful furies encircle me), Inga Kalna dominates as Armida; her portrayal of the fiery sorceress is nothing short of hair-raising. Miah Persson is pure beauty and innocence as Almirena; she plays one of the performance’s most exquisite scenes with her moving lament, “Lascia ch’io pianga” (Let me weep). The rest of the cast, Lawrence Zazzo as Goffredo, James Rutherford as Argante, Christophe Dumaux as Eustazio and Dominique Visse as the Christian Sorcerer, contribute dramatically compelling performances.

The orchestra becomes an 8th character in this performance, bubbling with urgency and propelling the action forward. Though not a slave to current early-music fashions, Jacobs captures what most certainly must have been the spirit of the original production. So alive and of the moment is the performance, one has the sense that the music is being invented on the spot.

Only three years ago, Decca released a starry recording of Rinaldo with David Daniels in the title role, Cecilia Bartoli as Almirena, Luba Orgonasova as Armida, Gerald Finley as Argante, Bernarda Fink as Goffredo, Daniel Taylor as Eustazio and Bejun Mehta as the Christian Sorcerer; Christopher Hogwood conducted the Academy of Ancient Music. Hardcore early opera fans will want to compare this version with the Jacobs/Genaux, particularly to explore the differences between a mezzo-soprano and a countertenor in the title role.

Twenty or so years ago, Marilyn Horne introduced us to Rinaldo and her recording, if you can find it, is worth a listen. Unfortunately, it doesn’t capture this extraordinary artist on her best day and, compared to the above recordings, this performance feels old-fashioned.

For the enjoyment of pure vocal fireworks, I keep Ewa Podles’ recording of arias from Rinaldo and Orlando at an easy reach on my shelf.

The alienated put the world to rights

Thom Yorke, Ed O'Brien, Colin Greenwood, Jonny Greenwood and Phil Selway met in the mid-'80s while students at Abingdon School, a British boys' school near Oxford. As sons of middle-class families they might have played rugby and gone on to respectable careers as bankers or barristers. But—each for his own reasons—they didn’t run with the crowd and were more interested in literature, art, psychology, history and music. An insightful and supportive music teacher introduced them to jazz, film scores and 20th century classical music, particularly the avant-garde music of the 1950s and beyond. Jonny would eventually study classical composition. In 1987, the boys formed a band, On A Friday (named for the fact that they rehearsed on Fridays), and got a regular gig at a local tavern, Jericho's. After a year, On A Friday went on hiatus when four of its members entered Oxford University (Jonny is a couple years younger than the others and remained at Abingdon).

In 1991, the band reconvened and made a series of demo tapes, one of which found its way to the recording conglomerate, EMI. A representative from EMI showed up at Jericho's to hear them play and afterward signed them to a contract. The band changed its name to Radiohead, after the Talking Head's song "Radio Head" from the True Stories album, and then things began to happen.

In September, 1992, Radiohead released its first major single, "Creep," a hymn of alienation that created a cult following for the band. Here are the lyrics:

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell
I'm doing here?
I don't belong here

She's running out again
She's running out
She runs runs runs

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here I don't belong here

"Creep," became an international hit and was included on the band's first album, Pablo Honey, a solid debut that earned respectable notices and gave the band a fan base outside the U.K. Radiohead's second album, The Bends, was released in 1995 to positive reviews. Early sales were disappointing, though, and the band spent much of the year as the opening act on R.E.M.'s Monster tour. By year-end The Bends had managed to reach "gold" status (selling over 500,000 copies) and was included on several "best" lists.

OK Computer (1997) was the turning point for the band. It debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard chart and earned almost unanimous raves from critics and fans. It was singled out as one of the best albums of the year and eventually the decade and even the millennium. Radiohead had made it.

With the widespread popularity of OK Computer and the glare of public notice shining on the men of Radiohead, they suffered a collective anxiety attack of sorts. Selway told The New Yorker, "Everyone comes to us with their heads bowed, expecting to be inducted into the mystery of Radiohead. We were hoist on our own petard with that. At a certain point, around 1997, we were simply overwhelmed and had to vanish for a bit. This was our honest reaction to the situation we were in. But some people thought we were playing a game, or had started taking ourselves too seriously. Really we don't want people twiddling their goatees over our stuff. What we do is pure escapism." (New Yorker, August 20 & 27, 2001.)

In 2000, after a period of creative hibernation, Radiohead released Kid A and six months later, followed up with Amnesiac. The albums confused many fans and critics. Notices were mixed—from complete dismissals to ecstatic raves—and radio stations couldn't figure out which songs to play. The band had committed the ultimate marketing sin: it had failed to repeat itself. The press's favorite word for albums was "introspective." It's true, many of the albums’ songs looked inward. But the band wasn't wallowing in a state of self-absorption. Kid A and Amnesiac were the natural reaction five misfits had to finding themselves suddenly the objects of universal adulation. Kid A and Amnesiac contain some of the band's most complex music. The classic rock and pure pop elements are combined with progressive jazz-like music that sometimes borders on chaos. There are also the ever-present spirits of Igor Stravinsky and, especially, Olivier Messiaen, who seems to look over the band’s shoulder a lot (he was an early influence on Jonny Greenwood, who is responsible for most of the band's arrangements). I also hear Gustav Mahler in Kid A—the final movement of the 3rd Symphony specifically—that great wail of despair and self-examination.

Now comes Hail to the Thief, the band's sixth album, developed during the first six months of 2002. The band performed the material in shows in Europe while they were working it out and eventually came to Los Angeles to make the record. "We'd always been hesitant about working in Los Angeles," said Ed O'Brien, "because—let's face it—Radiohead mixing in with the Hotel California mind-set doesn't sound like a potential marriage made in heaven. But we quickly realized you can function out there without becoming tarnished by whatever else going on there. It was the best recording experience we ever had. We finished one song each day we were booked. We didn't over-scrutinize. We didn't get too cerebral. We trusted in ourselves and just let go, really." (http://www.hollywoodandvine.com/radiohead/)

Hail to the Thief feels like Radiohead's first adult album, an adjective I use not to be condescending (in fact, four of the five band members are now in their mid-30s), but to describe its emotional foundation. If one aspect of adulthood is looking out at the world and gauging one’s emotional response with real-life, public concerns, then that certainly applies here. Hail to the Thief has the brazen, in-your-face qualities of The Bends and OK Computer, but here the emotions are more specific. Colin Greenwood talked about the album:

"The Gloaming" was going to be the album title; [i]t's the subtitle now. It refers to a general all-enveloping darkness that's slowly taking over mankind: like some plague from the middle ages that seems to be on the horizon again. In the middle ages, everyone was obsessed by people who were "possessed". The same thing is happening now. They don't know it's happening to them and they think they're doing the right thing but the rise of fascism and ignorance are what they're really calling into play. And that to me is the real "thief". The thief is someone who takes possession of one's soul in order to inhabit their body. And with the few politicians I've encountered personally, I've always got the sense that there's fuck-all going on behind their exteriors. (http://www.hollywoodandvine.com/radiohead/)

Hail to the Thief's cover design by Stanley Donwood dispels any doubt that it is a political album. (If you think you know what the title of the album refers to, you're right. If you don't, go here.) It's a map of words arranged to resemble a New York-like city that make you feel just a little uncomfortable: patrol, poor, GOD, gasoline, danger, armed, BANGBANG, END, AIDS, theft, OIL, media, judge executioner, who's to blame, blindness, sirens, blacklist, venture capitalism, LIES LIES LIES, cannon fodder, duped, phony, lurid, gullible, scream, snakecharmer, doublespeak, the jaws of hell, executioner, duped, bullets, money for the generals, trickledown. Etc.

The album's tone is set with the opening song, "2+2=5" (The Lukewarm.):

Are you such a dreamer?
To put the world to rights?
I'll stay home forever
Where two & two always
      makes up five
I'll lay down the tracks
Sandbag & hide
January has April's showers
And two & two always
makes up five
IT'S THE DEVIL'S WAY NOW
THERE IS NO WAY OUT
YOU CAN SCREAM
& YOU CAN SHOUT
IT IS TOO LATE NOW
BECAUSE
YOU HAVE NOT BEEN
      PAYING ATTENTION
I try to sing along
I get it all wrong
Eezeepeezeeeezeepeeezee
NOT
I swat em like flies but
Like flies the buggers
Keep coming back
NOT
Maybe not
"All hail to the thief
"But I'm not!"
"Don't question my
      Authority or put me in the dock"
Cozimnot!
Go & tell the king that
The sky is falling in
When it's not
Maybe not.

(ahh diddums.)

If this reminds you of the Sex Pistols' anthem, "God Save the Queen," you're not far off; although it probably won't inspire any bans or arrests.

So why are middle-aged classical music writers sitting home listening to Radiohead? Not that angst and alienation are exclusive to the alphabet generations, but one feels there must be something going on here that attracts a more diverse audience. My guess—based on my own personal response to the band—is that it’s the music itself. Only a few times in an era does an artist or a band come along that manages to do more with their tools than create ditties for immediate consumption (and disposal) by the masses. (Despite its success, Radiohead still isn’t a mass-appeal band.) Radiohead, if you’ll forgive the triteness, is writing and performing art rock. They’re Kandinsky in a mostly Keith Haring world (pace!). Nothing against the latter; it's just that there's more to contemplate in the former.

Radiohead’s songs are mostly through-composed; few follow the verse-chorus formula. The melodies are sophisticated and unpredictable, especially in the band's later work, and the tonalities are complex and intensely colorful (there’s the Messiaen, among others). The rhythmic play is intricate and often complicated. When Radiohead was working on the music that makes up Hail to the Chief, Thom Yorke (vocals, guitar) was listening to Krzysztof Penderecki and P.J Harvey. Ed O'Brien (rhythm guitar, percussion, back-up vocals), Jonny Greenwood (lead guitar, organ, synthesizer, piano, recorder, and ondes martinot), Colin Greenwood (bass) and Phil Selway (drums) were influenced separately and collectively by the Pixies, Pink Floyd, Elvis Costello, Joy Division, Tom Waits, Taking Heads, R.E.M., Miles Davis and Ennio Morricone.

But all the words on the refrigerator can’t describe the sound and the feeling you get when listening. So, if you're unfamiliar with Radiohead and tempted to try them out, I'd recommend going straight for Hail to the Chief. Keep in mind, though, that if you were going to try out Hans Werner Henze by listening to his Seventh Symphony, you'd probably find the going difficult on first hearing. Give Hail to the Chief a couple of listens if you don't "get it" at first. Great music often takes multiple exposures to work its way under your skin.

Also of interest:
At Ease
Follow Me Around
Green Plastic
Radiohead.org
Hail to the Thief

Radiohead’s No. 1 Fan

Christopher O’Riley seems like an interesting fellow. We don’t know whether or not he identifies with the alienated; but we can guess, by virtue of being a classical pianist, he resides outside of mainstream society. What is more interesting, though, is his singular presence in the classical music business, where labels are narrowly drawn and where careers are built and manipulated by publicity concerns more than the uniqueness of a performer’s personality and desires. Doing something unexpected can mean getting discarded by the suits and being taken less seriously by the public. Apparently, this doesn’t much concern Mr. O’Riley. A recent recital program proves the point:

Prokofiev: Sonata No. 3 in A Minor, Op. 28
Stravinsky: Apollon musagète
Shostakovich: Prelude and Fugue, Op. 87, Nos. 13 and 14
Scriabin: Sonata No. 8, Op. 66
Balakirev: Islamey (fantasie orientale)

You won’t see this sort of programming on the Great Performers circuit. Yet, it’s tame compared to his album, Christopher O’Riley At The Break:

Guastavino: Cantilena, No. 4
Rachmaninoff: Etude-Tableau in D Major, Op. 39, No. 9
Rameau: Le Rappel des Oiseaux
Rachmaninoff: Daisies, Op. 38, No. 3
Delibes-O’Riley: "Viens, Mallika!" from Lakme
Rachmaninoff: Etude-Tableau in f#-minor, Op. 39, No. 3
Chopin: Prelude in F# Major, Op. 28, No. 13
Debussy: La Fille Aux Cheveux De Lin
Rameau: La Villageoise
Davies: Farewell to Stromness
Severac Ou L'on Entend Une Vielle Boite A Musique
Rachmaninoff: Prelude in G Major, Op. 32, No. 5
Milhaud: Corcovado
Rachmaninoff: Prelude in c minor, Op. 23, No. 7
Rachmaninoff: Lilacs Op. 21, No. 5
Rachmaninoff: Prelude in g# minor, Op. 32, No. 12
Rachmaninoff: Prelude in D Major, Op. 23, No. 4
Rameau: Musette En Rondeau
Mozart: Gigue in G Major, K. 574
Rameau: Rigaudons 1 & 2
Rameau: Tambourin
Guastavino: Mariana
Prokofiev: Masquers
Schumann: Zart Und Singend from "Davidsbundlertanze" Op. 6
Chopin: Mazurka in e-flat minor, Op. 6, No. 4
Bartok: Finale, Fifteen Hungarian Peasant Dances
Chopin: Prelude in d minor, Op. 28, No. 24
Poulenc: Babar et Celeste
Guaraldi: Christmastime is Here

It comes as no surprise whatsoever that this “artist whose poetic gifts and captivating virtuosity have made him one of the most important and versatile pianists performing before the public today” (according to his official bio) has just released an album of Radiohead covers, True Love Waits. Mr. O’Riley has transcribed fifteen Radiohead songs for solo piano, giving them a kind of reverse makeover. Without the various vocal and instrumental colors, the songs are presented in their rawest, most natural form. This is not to say that Mr. O’Riley’s playing lacks emotion or that the songs are compromised in this form. If anything, the music takes on more directness and immediacy without the distraction of words, voices and other instruments. There ends up being almost an ambient quality to the music as a result and I found it preferable to listen to three or four numbers at a time, rather than to the entire album in one sitting.

On August 8, 2003, Mr. O’Riley performs his Radiohead transcriptions at the Cabrillo Festival of Contemporary Music in Santa Cruz, California. Over the following two nights, he will new works for piano and orchestra by Thomas Adès, John Adams and Richard Danielpour

More Christopher O’Riley recordings

Not So Joyous One

One dare not imagine the reasons behind EMI’s decision to make a new recording of La Gioconda, although one assumes that the participation of Plácido Domingo was a determining factor. Rather than pointing out how entirely unnecessary this recording is, I will state that I hope it sells many copies and that as a result EMI continues to make complete-opera recordings. (If anyone at EMI is reading, I have a list of about 25 American operas I’d like to nominate for future projects.)

La Gioconda (The Joyous One) attracts ardent supporters and equally passionate detractors. The former enjoy it for its blood-and-guts entertainment value; the latter find it overly melodramatic and musically second-rate. Whatever. La Gioconda has been popular in the U.S. since its debut here on December 20, 1883, at the Metropolitan Opera. More-or-less recent in/famous performances include a 1979 San Francisco production with Renata Scotto and Luciano Pavarotti (memorable less for musical reasons than for the operatically sized spat that erupted on opening night between the two artists) and a 1983 Saturday matinee performance at the Met starring Eva Marton and Plácido Domingo. Those who braved the January blizzard (and there weren’t many) witnessed a sizzling performance; millions experienced it thanks to the radio broadcast (see below).

Amilcare Ponchielli (1834-1886) was the second most important Italian opera composer of the latter half of the 19th century; the most important, of course, was Giuseppe Verdi. Ponchielli was born on August 31, 1834, in Paderno. His father was an organist at a local church who gave young Amilcare his first lessons in music. At age nine, he won a place in the Milan Conservatory and thanks to a wealthy patron was able to enroll. There he studied piano with Arturo Angeleri and composition with Alberto Mazzucato. Upon graduating in 1854, he took a position as a music teacher and organist in Cremona where he began work on his first full-length opera, I promessi sposi (The Betrothed), after Allessandro Manzoni’s popular novel. The opera premiered on August 30, 1856, and was greeted enthusiastically by the public. It failed to impress either a publisher or an impresario, though, and was not revived.

Over the next sixteen years, Ponchielli endured many disappointments. Several opera projects either died or, if finished, failed to meet with success. He was passed over for a professorship at the Milan Conservatory in 1867 and had to support himself as a bandmaster. Finally, in 1872, a production of I promessi sposi at the Teatro Dal Verme in Milan brought a reversal of the composer’s fortunes. The opera had gotten a completely new libretto by the poet Emilio Praga and Ponchielli had made extensive revisions to the score. Grove Dictionary notes:

I promessi sposi owed its appeal to a reaction against modernists such as Boito and against the nascent enthusiasm for Wagner. Indeed its design suggests an opera of the 1840s, employing all the standard post-Rossinian forms together with patterned accompaniments, bursts of coloratura and vocal cadenzas. The musical language, even of the pieces composed subsequently, is essentially that of Donizetti with a wider range of modulation. (Julian Budden, 'Ponchielli, Amilcare', The New Grove Dictionary of Music Online, ed. L. Macy, accessed 31 May 2003.)

Sr. Ponchielli’s career took another step forward when the publisher, Giulio Ricordi, commissioned him to write a new grand opera for La Scala. I Lituani (The Lithuanians), with a libretto by Antonio Ghislanzoni after Adam Mickiewicz’s ballad Konrad Wallenrod, debuted on March 7, 1874. The opera was acknowledged as a work of great skill, but it was not a popular success. Ponchielli had responded to his somber subject by writing mostly in minor keys, something that could never have endeared him to the public (foreshadowing the modern complaint against composers not giving the audience something to hum when it leaves the theater). A revised version played at the theater the following year to somewhat greater effect, but the opera still failed to catch on. (A concert performance in Cremona in 1984 revealed to modern audiences a composer of great skill and invention, although not one of exceptional inspiration.)

Later that year, Ponchielli married the soprano Teresa Brambilla (1845-1921), who had sung the role of Lucia in the 1872 revival of I promessi sposi. Mme. Brambilla had appeared in Lisbon, Madrid, Paris, Saint Petersburg and throughout Italy in such roles as Adalgisa (Norma), Paolina (Poliuto), Leonora (Il trovatore and La forza del destino), Aida and Elsa (Lohengrin). She would become the preferred interpreter of title role of La Gioconda.

With his ninth attempt, La Gioconda, Ponchielli finally came up with a hit opera. Librettist Arrigo Boito was a talented young man who had studied both literature and music. He was a member of Scapigliatura (The Disheveled Ones), a bohemian group that spoke out about the stagnation of Italian opera and of its designs for modernizing it. This made Boito unpopular with the established composers of the day, which must have been a factor in the spectacular failure of his only opera, Mefistofele, at its 1868 La Scala premiere. Boito had written the libretto and the music for his opera and was also forced to lead the first performance after making an enemy of the conductor. Thereafter, Boito focused his talents and energies on words; he published several volumes of poetry and wrote and translated libretti. (A revised version of Mefistofele played in Bologna in 1875 and its success there had a restorative effect on the composer’s reputation.)

Ponchielli had admired Mefistofele in spite of the La Scala fiasco and sought out Boito to adapt Victor Hugo’s Angélo tyran de Padoue for his second Scala commission. (Curiously, Boito would sign Gioconda’s libretto as Tobia Gorrio, an anagram of his own name). La Gioconda premiered on April 8, 1876, and was received with enthusiasm at each of its four performances. Ponchielli, however, was not satisfied and spent the next four years revising the opera for various productions around Italy.

Three efforts followed Gioconda, including Il figliuol prodigo (The Prodigal Son), after Scribe’s L’enfant prodigue, which was regarded by many as his finest work purely on a musical basis. Its subject matter, however, was dramatically stagnant and as theater the opera was inert. In 1881, Ponchielli finally gained a teaching post at the Milan Conservatory, where Puccini and Mascagni were among his students. For his final opera, Marion Delorme, after Hugo’s Marion de Lorme, (La Scala, March 17, 1885) Ponchielli tried his hand at the French opéra comique style. But he was working with recycled ideas at this point and the work was not a success. Verdi counseled Ponchielli to condense the libretto with the help of Ghislanzoni (who had just supplied Verdi with the libretto for Aïda), but a revised version given at Brescia later in the year also failed. Ponchielli died from pneumonia in Milan on January 16, 1886.

Grove Dictionary summed up the composer’s career as follows:

Ponchielli was a highly accomplished musician, whose misfortune it was to have grown up during a difficult period of transition in Italy’s musical history. By nature conservative, he was further handicapped by a lack of self-confidence and a retiring temperament which put him at a disadvantage in the competitive world of the theatre. Such success as he obtained there would have been impossible without Ricordi’s efforts on his behalf. Though possessed of a genuine dramatic instinct combined with a lyrical flair, he never took charge of an operatic structure as Verdi always did; rather, he remained dependent on the invention of his librettists, among whom Boito alone was able to satisfy his requirements in full. His masterpiece, La Gioconda, inevitably suffers by comparison with those of his great contemporary. Bernard Shaw held it up as ‘a mere instance of the mischief which great men bring upon the world when small men begin to worship them’. (Julian Budden, 'Ponchielli, Amilcare', The New Grove Dictionary of Music Online, ed. L. Macy, accessed 31 May 2003.)

The action of La Gioconda takes place in 17th century Venice. The plot is a 19th century Italian opera librettist’s dream: Barnaba, a government spy, loves Gioconda, a street singer, who loves Enzo, a Genoese nobleman, who loves Laura, wife of Alvise, a Viennese nobleman. Enzo and Barnaba are enemies; Enzo and Laura were lovers before the latter married Alvise; Enzo has now sworn fidelity to Gioconda. Finally, there is Gioconda’s blind mother, La Cieca, thought to be a witch. There are also various pages, confidents, sailors, fisherman, and revelers.

The opera’s four acts have descriptive titles: “The Lion’s Mouth,” “The Rosary in the Waters of Fusina” (which ends in the spectacular burning of a ship), “The House of Gold” and “The Orfano Canal on the Island of Giudecca.” At various points the principal characters appear in some form of disguise. They hide from one another so as to overhear or surprise their enemies. They are detained unwillingly or trapped unexpectedly. Secret meetings are arranged and interrupted. There’s a faked death. There are parties and festivals. Lovers of opera hit tunes are not disappointed by La Gioconda either. There are the famous arias, Enzo’s “Cielo e mar!” (Sky and Sea!) and Gioconda’s “Suicidio!” (Suicide!), as well as the “Dance of the Hours,” which has been immortalized in commercials, cartoons and film (the “dancing hippo” segment in Fantasia) and by Allan Sherman’s ‘60s parody “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah.”

EMI’s new recording is quite pleasant. The singers do their jobs well and the orchestra plays with skill. The best engineers seem to have been hired (given the shortage of such work there must have been many to choose from) and they have come up with a recording that is technologically marvelous. The plastic spins efficiently in the CD player, emitting inoffensive sounds from the speakers, all the while hardly disturbing a single nerve ending in the body. There’s not an ounce of oomph here. As Gioconda, Violetta Urmana sounds like she has the juice for the role and one day I’d love to witness her in person as the Joyous One. A cynic would point out that Mr. Domingo’s star power lends more to the project than does his performance. Don’t get me wrong—I’m a fan. But, there are two or three other tenors who might have been a better artistic choice in the role of Enzo. This is not the same Mr. Domingo who thrilled those cold New Yorkers twenty years ago.

Of the others, Elisabetta Fiorillo gives a powerful, idiomatic performance as La Cieca. Luciana D’Intino as Laura and Lado Ataneli as Barnaba were also fine. I have never been a fan of Roberto Scandiuzzi (Alvise) so I am not objective enough to judge his work here. The minor roles are performed enthusiastically; Marcello Viotti leads a performance that is sensitive and spirited.

Those wanting a more convincing performance will no doubt be happier with Maria Callas’s version, also on EMI. Admirers of this artist hold this particular recording in high esteem. I heard it once and recall being moved by it.

Personally, I’d keep on my shelf the Polygram recording with Renata Tebaldi and Carlo Bergonzi or one of Montserrat Caballé’s efforts, a commercial recording for Decca or a live recording on Opera d’Oro.

A Dark Day

On May 21, 2003, the Metropolitan Opera announced that after the 2003-4 season, ChevronTexaco will no longer sponsor the company’s radio broadcasts. This move has been feared, suspected and hinted at for some time. While the Met has put on an optimistic face and vowed to keep its performances on the air regardless, the loss of this support makes most opera-lovers pretty nervous.

Millions of artists and patrons acknowledge the Met broadcasts as the single most formative experience in the development of their interest in opera (I am one of them). But, perhaps we’re no longer the sort of people to sit around listening to opera on the radio. You’re more likely to find Johnny or Jane or Juan or Li Mei at soccer practice on a Saturday afternoon than home cleaning their rooms while mom and dad listen to the Met broadcast.

Is the Internet the answer? Perhaps, as most of us spend a good amount of time with our computers. If opera companies can get their various unions to the table, maybe they will hammer out agreements that will actually lead to more opera on the waves.

Regardless, I encourage anything with a passion on this subject to write to Chevron Texaco:

email: comment@chevrontexaco.com

snail mail: ChevronTexaco Corporation 6001 Bollinger Canyon Rd. San Ramon, CA 94583

Keep it civil. But, as I did, don’t hesitate to point out that there are other companies from whom you can buy gasoline. I wrote to them via e-mail and received later the same day an informative, self-congratulatory and unapologetic response.

Thanks a Million!

On April 14, 2003, USOPERAWEB logged its 1,000,000th hit.

Robert Wilder Blue