I’ve often debated the value of performance DVDs over recordings. Obviously, in many areas, especially opera, video recordings are invaluable documents. Since production values are intrinsic to so many operas today, unless you are lucky enough to be there, a DVD performance may be the only way to experience the entire production—not just the singing. However, pure performance DVDs can be a mixed bag. Unlike commercial films or opera productions (which require a massive film crew), a “straight” performance film director has to find interesting visuals to enhance what can be a fairly static format. Close-ups of hands, facial expressions, etc., are just the beginning. What do you do with a film that simply documents a performer sitting at his or her instrument in recital? Sometimes, there isn’t much that can be done. For a DVD to surpass an audio or live performance, I am looking for details beyond the playing–a visual clue that reveals something new about the artist. While I don’t think performance DVDs will ever completely replace recordings, I think that, more and more, they offer a unique perspective on the artist. And, sometimes, they are the only way to experience an artist in performance.
The Medici Arts label has just launched Classic Archive. The first offerings from this promising series feature DVD performances of two iconic Russian pianists, Sviatoslav Richter and Tatiana Nikolayeva, as well as the Bulgarian-born French pianist Alexis Weissenberg. Each of the documents provides lovers of these great artists with much to applaud and ideas to ponder.
Sviatoslav Richter (1915-1997) was, unquestionably, one of the greatest pianists of the 20th century (and one of my absolute personal favorites). A complicated and temperamental man, Richter hated being filmed. The performance documented on this DVD was from a Barbican recital in 1989. Richter, as many know, was known to cancel concerts at a moment’s notice. He also was unaware that this concert was to be filmed until just shortly before the performance. After a considerable and heated discussion, he agreed to the filming, on the condition that no camera would be in his field of vision. This challenge was overcome at the expense of the film crew, who were accustomed to expending thousands of watts of lighting power when televising such an event. Richter insisted on restricting the lighting to a single 40-watt bulb, focused not on him, but on his music. This eccentric lightening was unconventional even without cameras present, but it was his standard practice at concerts, as he wanted to focus maximum attention on the music and de-emphasize the importance of the performer. It also served to mask his use of a score, a practice he implemented in 1979 after a serious memory lapse at a concert.
In the film, it is clear that Richter is uncomfortable knowing cameras are present. On a number of occasions, he looks at the ceiling, presumably where one of the cameras was perched. What is perhaps most interesting about this film is watching a great artist clearly struggling with his demons and aging as he negotiates a solo recital. The Chopin portions of the recital are particularly interesting, as the selections from the Études, Op. 10 and Op. 25 shed light on Richter’s incredible genius and magnetism, and, at the same time, document the difficulties he faced in his later career. That said, Richter closes his Barbican recital with a towering performance of Chopin’s Étude, Op. 25/11 in A minor, which brings the house down, highlighting his legendary artistry. Richter enthusiasts also will enjoy comparing the Barbican performance of Chopin’s Étude, Op. 10, No. 4 to the one included in the bonus material, which features Richter at his peak in 1969.
This DVD includes performances of Mozart’s Piano Sonatas, K 282, K 545, and K 310; Chopin’s Études, Op. 10, No. 1 to No. 6 and No. 10 to No. 12, and Études, Op. 25, Nos. 5, 6, 8, and 11. Bonus material includes a BBC broadcast from 1969 with Richter performing Chopin’s Étude, Op. 10, Nos. 4 and 12; and Rachmaninoff’s Étude-Tableau, Op. 39, No. 3.
The distinguished pianist, composer, and teacher Tatiana Nikolayeva (1924-1993) represents the another example of the wealth of piano talent to flood from the former Soviet Union during the 20th century. Shostakovich’s cycle of 24 Preludes and Fugues always held a special place in her heart: she inspired and premiered it in Leningrad in 1952, and it was the piece she performed when she died in concert in San Francisco in 1993. She also made three recordings of the work. The lifelong friendship between Shostakovich and Nikolayeva began when the 26-year-old pianist won first prize at the 1950 Bach Piano competition, organized in Leipzig for the bicentennial of the German composer’s death. As a member of the jury, Shostakovich (1906-1975) was so impressed and inspired by her playing that he returned to Moscow to compose his own set of Preludes and Fugues in 1950-51. This DVD features a BBC broadcast recording from December 1992 of the complete cycle and includes more of Shostakovich’s music played by Tatiana Nikolayeva in a documentary bonus film. This document was perhaps the most straightforward of the three releases. Nikolayeva even at the end of her life was in complete command at the piano. Her technique and musicianship were flawless, and what came across so clearly in the film was that Shostakovich’s music was as much a part of her as breathing. After all, she had lived with it since the beginning, and it was written for her.
The final release was, in some ways, the most interesting of the three. I will go on record now as saying I never loved Weissenberg’s playing. I own some of his early Chopin recordings, which I never liked. And, after watching this DVD, I confess I still don’t like his Chopin. However, this DVD, which is taken from several sources, is perhaps the most rich of the three releases. Alexis Weissenberg, who was born in 1929 in Sofia, Bulgaria, studied both in Bulgaria and Jerusalem before attending The Juilliard School, where he studied with famed pedagogue Olga Samaroff (conductor Leopold Stokowki’s first wife).
This archival DVD includes a 1965 film by Swedish filmmaker and former assistant to Ingmar Bergman, Åke Falck, which shows Mr. Weissenberg performing Stravinsky’s Petrushka Suite. The shooting took 10 days and required a special “silent” piano be built; Weissenberg performed in sync with a playback of his actual performance, while he listened through loudspeakers set at a distance from him (the viewer learns much more about the making of the film in the bonus material). The result is an amazing feat of both pianism and filmmaking, which brings the complexity of Stravinsky’s fiendishly difficult piano score into sharp focus (the composer transcribed the Petrushka Suite note-for-note from the orchestral version). It is, in some ways, very much a music video. There are wild shots of Weissenberg’s massively powerful hands as they negotiate the length and breadth of the instrument. From registral leaps to huge chords, nothing is too difficult for Mr. Weissenberg’s prodigious technique. He is perfect for this music, and Falck’s film really shows an artist who is one with his craft in a visually arresting way. Another highlight of this DVD is Weissenberg’s performance of Dame Myra Hess’ arrangement of Bach’s Jesus, Joy of Man’s Desiring (taken from a September 25, 1969 Broadcast). He delivers the Bach in a wonderfully Lisztian manner, giving an immense power and majesty to this often understated work.
In addition to Stravinsky’s Three Movements from Petrushka, the film includes other archival performances taken from various broadcast sources from the 1960s, featuring repertoire including Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata No. 3; Scriabin’s Nocturne for the Left Hand, Op. 9, No. 2; Rachmaninoff’s Prelude, Op. 23, No. 6; Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 3 - Largo, Nocturne Op. Posth. in C minor, Étude, Op. 25, No. 7; J.S. Bach’s Chromatic Fantasy, BWV 903, Partita No. 6 – Courante; and the Brahms Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat, Op. 83, with the Orchestre National de l’ORTF, Georges Prêtre, conductor – 8/31/69.
I recently wrote a blog entry about a new release on Arthaus Musik, The Opera Fanatic. It couldn’t be more timely. La Cieca reported today that one of the divas profiled in the film, Turkish soprano Leyla Gencer has died.
In The Opera Fanatic, Gencer commented, “When you sing, you have to feel what you are saying…I actually cried on stage. Once in a while [it was more than once in a while, but who cares], a note would issue forth which was not orthodox. That’s why the American critics don’t like me. But I don’t care. They want music with water and soap.” Yes, this was the woman who years after her career had ended could still demand she be interviewed at La Scala.
Born in 1928, Gencer premiered the role of Madame Lidoine in Poulenc’s Dialogues des Carmelites at La Scala in 1957. However, she was best known for her dramatic coloratura roles in operas of Donizetti and Verdi. Rest in peace—and with Callas, Madame Gencer.
To some, Frederic Rzewski might seem like a composer full of contradictions. His music, after all, includes minimalist and quasi-serialist works as well as collage-type pieces. For example, we all discovered during the pre-concert chat with series producer Ara Guzelimian that Elliott Carter has been a long time friend and mentor to Rzewski. I was surprised. But Kyle Gann, in his essay to the program “Never Second-Guessing Rzewski,” notes “It is typical of Rzewski that he has refused to be limited by even the humanist realist aesthetic that he created. Like Stravinsky, he has shown contrarian fearlessness about walking away from styles his music has made popular. ”
When asked about music and politics, Rzewski stated “Music really can’t be political … theater, perhaps, can be.” And in works like Attica (1972), Spots (1986), and the newer Natural Things (2007) you can see how he brings music and theater together–beautifully. Attica, the earliest work performed, consists of a repetitive tonal sequence set against the intoned narration “Attica is in front of me” (a quote, according to the liner notes, taken from the statement of Richard X. Clark, one of the prison uprising’s organizers). While an extremely moving and beautiful work, I’m afraid that unlike most of the audience–and Times reporter Allan Kozinn–I was not as impressed by Stephen ben Israel’s narration (he was the work’s original narrator). I would be curious to hear of other reactions to ben Israel’s performance, as it was abundantly clear to me that I was absolutely in the minority on this.
I was only acquainted with Rzewski’s piano works before this concert, and it was wonderful to see he treats other instruments. I absolutely loved how he uses the human body as an instrument. For example, in Natural Things (commissioned by Opus 21), Rzewski has the string players breathe and/or sigh as they play glissandi. He also has the performers clap and stamp, creating a choreography, which then becomes part of the music, and use their voices creatively–talking, whispering, layering dialogue contrapuntally. I found his use of non-musical objects refreshing and fun: cans, a megaphone, and even a basketball in Spots. (Does anyone know if both Spots and Natural Things were both orchestrated by Richard Adams, composer and founder of Opus 21? I know they mentioned he had arranged one of the pieces.)
For my taste, I did not care for the 2008 piano work War Songs. It seemed more like a work-in-progress to me, and one which didn’t yet have an emotional center.
Finally, I was somewhat baffled by the instrument set up for a work I dearly love, Winnsboro Cotton Mill Blues, which Rzewski and Stephen Drury performed in a two-piano arrangement from 1980. I asked Jed Distler about this in an e-mail, and he assured me that it was “arbitrary.” If that is the case, and the set-up was meant to cut down on the time moving other instruments out of the way, I think it didn’t serve this arrangement well. Usually with two-piano works, pianos are arranged closer together so that both artists can communicate in some fashion. Clearly, the sonorities called for in Winnsboro Cotton Mill Blues would make a very close arrangement of the instruments impractical. However, the pianos were so far apart, it seemed as if both players had to guess at each other’s breathing. I’m also not sure the arrangement gave them the sonic quality they sought. Any thoughts from others who attended the performance would be welcome here.
On a different, but related note: We’ve gotten a lot of wonderful comments about pianist Ralph van Raat’s recent Naxos recording of The People United Will Never Be Defeated! (Naxos 8559360). However, many people have requested the timings for all of the variations. Ralph sent them to me in an e-mail last week, and they are pasted below:
Timelist Rzewski’s People United… Theme (0.00-1′35″)
Little did I know that I had the makings of an Opera Fanatic — well, I’ve discovered that I do. I found myself watching the DVD version of The Opera Fanatic(the VHS version of this film has been available on Zucker’s Bel Canto Society website for some time; the DVD version is being released on Arthaus Musik at the end of May) with absolute fascination (twice now, probably a third time by the time I’ve finished this blog entry), despite the fact that Stefan Zucker (purportedly the highest tenor according to the Guinness World Book of Records and generally an annoying enfant terrible) is thoroughly outrageous and, in some cases, shockingly rude to an absolutely extraordinary grouping of true Divas. The chutzpah (not to mention bad taste) of asking legendary mezzo-soprano Fedora Barbieri about the sexual proclivities of mezzos boggles the mind, but then again, she offered—or threatened—to spank him for his naughty question. (Maybe there IS some truth to this rumor she so passionately denied?)
The Opera Fanaticis partly about Zucker’s quest for the answers to a question which cannot really be answered or quantified: what makes a singer thrilling and a performance moving? But it also is, in part, a memorial of his late mother, a soprano named Rosina Wolf, whose memory he evokes several times during the film. Most of all, however, it is about a group of great singers, many of whom have been forgotten (a few probably don’t even hit the radar for some younger opera-goers), and some whose careers were eclipsed by La Callas and Renata Tebaldi. However, one thing these larger-than-life women have in common can be put very simply: Star Power.
And that Star Power is wonderfully present in this film. Years after her career had ended, soprano Leyla Gencer still could demand that she be interviewed at La Scala (they acquiesced); Marcella Pobbe, a wonderful soprano from the 1950s, was suspiciously difficult to pin down for an interview time; yet another Diva was concerned that her maid would need to come twice (before and after the interview).
And some of the meetings went less than swimmingly. Poor Madame Pobbe, when the interview finally took place, fumed at Zucker’s questions (she called him “stupid”). He prodded her with queries like “What was the highest note you ever sang?” Her disdain was palpable, but not for reasons one might think. She wanted Zucker to properly introduce her and to explain her place in opera history first (DIVA). She did, eventually, answer the question about the note (in case anyone cares, it was a high “D” in Carmina Burana, with Zubin Mehta conducting). She was equally ticked off when questioned about canceling her 1959 MET engagement to sing Elisabetta. The cancellation was due to a quarrel with her then lover the great tenor Nicolai Gedda. She blamed Rudolf Bing for the incident. Heard that story before…
But despite occasional fits of pique due to scheduling mishaps and other issues, many of these singers offered fascinating insights into opera, character, and the art of singing. The luminous mezzo-soprano Guilietta Simionato, known for her riveting vocal portrayals of characters like Carmen, Azucena, and Eboli, among many others, spoke almost poetically about proper breath control: “… the cavity [mask] projects upwards or sound doesn’t rise. With the breath you have to make a circle. It’s not that the high note is a point of arrival. The breath has to raise it up and then bring it down again, that way the notes come down like pearls.” A clip from a 1961 Cavalleria Rusticana[OA0983D] showed her in absolutely gorgeous voice. But perhaps the most telling moment from her interview was her confession when asked what she would have done differently with her career: she said, almost without hesitation, that she would not have become a singer. She suffered greatly, and it took almost two decades for her to get her due as an artist. I, for one, am glad she was not given that opportunity.
Another legendary soprano Magda Olivero commented that “you must find the character inside. Every word, every note has to rise from the inside and go forward to the audience.” She clearly understood what that meant, as evidenced by a superb 1960 Tosca excerpt. She also talked about the difficulties for sopranos in Act II of Tosca, which she described as a soprano-killer.
Anita Cerquetti (a personal favorite) — who is a longtime cult figure among vocal folks for her astonishing voice, very short career, and yes, the funniest record covers in just about all opera history (except for the late British Wagnerian Rita Hunter) — had some interesting comments about opera performance: ” A singer cannot be compared to an actor. The singer has to sing. He has to stay motionless. When he sings a romance, he cannot walk up and down the stage, otherwise the voice shifts. A singer has to be an actor through his gestures, through his face, through his arms and hands, through his voice.” Now, I won’t mince words here, Anita is and was a very large lady (NO comments here, she was) and probably didn’t or couldn’t take a lot of stage direction (just a guess). Motionless is a bit, well, odd even for me. And, let’s face it, much has changed in opera productions since these women graced the stage. There is far more emphasis on physical acting now for example. But some of what she says makes sense: a singer is not an actor in the traditional sense. If anyone watched the MET broadcast of Il Trittico last season, the most moving aspect of Barbara Frittoli’s performance was her portrayal of the character of Suor Angelica, which she achieved almost entirely through her facial expressions and simple physical gestures. In my opinion, her singing was nothing special. And had I been in the opera house instead of at the movies, where I could really see what she was doing with the role, I’m not so sure I would have been so moved.
For me, there is something special about this entire era of singing which quite frankly, harkens back to a time when the voice reigned supreme and when singing conveyed such emotion that even on a bad day, it had, well, “soul.” (Just to clarify: there are many, many current singers I absolutely adore and couldn’t do without. But I must confess to a certain love of singers from the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s and 1960s.)
In addition to the great singers of the 1950s and 1960s, the film also goes a further back into opera history and devotes some time to the great Gina Cigna, who actually was French and born in Paris in 1900 (she died in 2001). Cigna came from a much earlier era than the other singers portrayed in the film and was 96 when Zucker went to visit her. She said, “If you don’t know how to breathe, you don’t know how to sing….Opera has lost spontaneity, beauty and freedom.” Her interview was very short as she was so very frail, but just her presence and the excerpts of her glorious voice were enough for me.
I’ve left off quite a few singers profiled in the film, for which I apologize. But if my word count is correct, I’m over 1000 words. Watch the film instead. It is really a film about soul, something which these Divas all have in abundance. (The Opera Fanatic, a film by Jan Schmidt-Garre, Arthaus Musik, 101813.)
For the next few weeks, I’ve invited some Naxos artists to contribute to our blog on Sequenza21.
Cellist Dmitry Kouzov has performed throughout the United States, Europe and Russia with orchestras, in solo and duo recitals, and in chamber music performances. He also is the youngest member of the cello faculty at The Juilliard School. Naxos recently released his first recording, which was devoted to gamba sonatas of C.P.E. Bach.
A few days ago I was pleased to see my recording of C.P.E. Bach gamba sonatas released on Naxos (8.570740). This, I think, is one of the first recordings of these wonderful masterpieces on a cello. Since this wonderful music is generally unknown, I thought I would say a few introductory words about it.
It is very likely that these three sonatas were written for one of the most prominent virtuoso gambists of his time, Ludwig Christian Hesse (1716-1772), during the time when Carl Philipp was serving at the court of Frederick the Great in Berlin. These works are excellent representations of the composer’s style, which was considered somewhat revolutionary for his time. It is particularly interesting for me that these sonatas—which already showed important features of the classical sonata form (which C.P.E. really helped to develop)— are written for gamba, which was slowly falling into disuse as a concert instrument. The matter of choosing a somehow “old-fashioned” instrument for a rather progressive composing style likely had occurred because of a certain conservatism in musical tastes at the court of Frederick the Great. Prussia was a place where the genre of gamba and keyboard sonata remained alive longer than anywhere else.
I think that these sonatas sound as good on a cello as on a gamba (that’s one of the reasons why I wanted to play and record them), but what is most important for me is that these beautiful, expressive, and inventive works should find a place in cellists’ regular concert repertoire.
Raymond Bisha, Naxos’ Radio Promotions Manager (North America) and also the creator of Naxos’ podcasts, forwarded this email to all of us at Naxos of America from Alain Trundel, the conductor of the CBC Radio Orchestra. I thought, in light of what we’ve seen happening in the United States, that it was a letter worth posting. I’ve been reading the online newspapers for the past several months, so the fact that there is trouble with the arts in Canada is no great surprise. A little over a month ago, the CBC announced they would cease producing classical recordings, a terribly tragedy in my view. After all, like the BBC, the CBC has a treasure-trove in their archives as well as a roster of superb living Canadian performers and composers.
God knows we’ve been through this here in the States (and continue to go through it). But for the past couple of decades I’ve looked up to Canada and the U.K. for what seemed like their unshakable commitment to the arts. And while music is continuing to flow over the internet and in different ways than some of us older listeners are accustomed to, there still is nothing quite like a live performance. I know there will be some debate as to whether the demise of this particular orchestra ultimately matters. Let’s face it, priorities change with the times. That said, as much as I love my CD and LP collection (and the convenience of my iPOD), there is still something magical about hearing music in a public space, warts and all, with throngs of other listeners around you—and that sense of collective ecstasy when the power of a single performance transports an entire audience. After all, you were there too, and you have the story to tell.
Dear members of my orchestra, colleagues, and music lovers across the country,
Over the past few days I have received your many communications concerning the untimely demise of the CBC Radio Orchestra (CRO). I want to thank you so much for your concern and love for the Orchestra. I am very moved to see how many people understand the importance of the CRO (celebrating its 70th anniversary this season) for Canadians of all musical backgrounds.
The musicians, and myself are, of course, devastated by the loss of our mandate from the CBC, which first gave us life. In this time of shock and obvious distress, I think it is important to articulate, as clearly as possible, the value that our Orchestra brings to music lovers from everywhere in our country and to the CBC itself. In order to move forward, we need to grasp what it stands for and its place in our cultural life.
At this moment the CRO is one of the top orchestras in the country; an orchestra, which we as Canadians have spent seven decades building. This Orchestra is a musical jewel and a cultural landmark.
Being the only Radio Orchestra in the Americas, the CRO is the ONE music ensemble that sets the Canadian music scene apart. By its existence, its mission and its work, it helps define Canada’s uniqueness.
Throughout it history the CRO has called upon composers and performers of all cultural backgrounds from across our country, proving that music is alive in our country, even when other matters may cause despair or discouragement.
Through live performance and national broadcast exposure the CRO gives exposure to Canadian soloists and composers, sending a message of hope to all young Canadian creators and to musicians of all musical backgrounds. It shows that their voices will be heard and celebrated.
Throughout my tenure, I have insisted that we develop projects from all musical genres, including jazz, world, pop and Canadian native music. In 2007, we started the Great Canadian Song Book, which commissioned a diverse roster of composers to create “art song” settings of works from Joni Mitchell to Neil Young, from Buffy Ste-Marie to Serge Fiori and Michel Rivard.
The CRO has developed creative projects around music from Asia and the Middle-East; around jazz improvisers as well as traditional orchestral repertoire as well as collaborating with the rapper K-os.
During the last season, we commissioned 18 works over seven concerts. Through the CBC Radio Orchestra, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation is not only seen as a programmer but also as an active partner in Canadian art-making.
The CRO, through the elegance of a national broadcasting network, has reached people across our country. In September 2007, we performed a specially developed program, live, in Iqaluit on Frobisher Bay. Months later, we went to White Rock, B.C. We have received invitations from large and small communities across Canada and even from major concert halls in Europe. All of this, alas, we are now unable to entertain.
I have been fortunate in my career to work extensively in both English and French Canada, having thereby, a truly national perspective. To my great joy, in recent months the French services of the Corporation have not only become more aware of the fine work of the CRO, but have expressed a desire to embrace it. This also is a path that we cannot now pursue. However, the role of the Orchestra in building bridges across our country is something we must never forget.
Many things have been made clear in the work of the Orchestra and in your response to its closing: the importance of music in our lives, the importance of nurturing, supporting and broadcasting the diversified and astonishing talent we have in our country, the role of a national broadcaster in bringing us together, and much more. We will each have our personal reflection on the meaning of all of this, but one thing is certain: the CRO reminds us of what it is we cherish most in music and in our country.
Respectfully yours,
Alain Trudel
Principal Conductor, CBC radio Orchestra
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Raymond Bisha, 
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