Graduate Recital

II

III

Tonight's presentation is all about the stage: the use of vocal music in a storytelling context. The genres are varied--oratorio, opera, musical theater--but the setting is the same: the stage of the concert hall.

Contrary to popular notion, the oratorio is not a church art form. It is not even necessarily a religious one. This is not to say that performance of some oratorios in a church is inappropriate, only that oratorio composers do not necessarily intend (or at least orient) their works to be limited to that venue. Indeed, it would be rather a stretch to imagine how much spiritual "inspiration" a concert-goer would get out of a performance of "Hier steht der Wandrer nun" from Haydn's Die Jahrezeiten (The Seasons), however thrilling or entertaining the rendition might be. As far as any discussion of form and performance practice is concerned, however, it is not functionally different that "Thou shalt break them" from Handel's Messiah; the performance distinction lies simply in the chosen text. Further, not every religious oratorio would even be appropriate in all churches. While "Sei getreu bis in den Tod" (Paulus, Mendelssohn) might be welcome in a Protestant service, the Stabat Mater's "Cujus animam gementem"--with acutely Roman Catholic sentiments--probably would not be, nor would "Sound an alarm!" from Handel's Judas Maccabaeus, for much the same reason. The equalizing factor of these pieces is less about the subject matter and more about the intended venue.

None of these constraints exist in opera, where just about anything goes. In fact, there are frequently some quite profoundly "un-Christian" themes at work in the average opera, be they implied or stated outright.

In the predominance of the Romantic operas, the overall plot lines tend to be rather unimaginative, with an inevitable love triangle and the death of the diva at the end. This is true especially among the Italian composers, whose works are often obtusely formulaic, saved typically by the astounding quality of their melodic and orchestral creativity. None were more proficient at this than the French composer Georges Bizet, whose potential offerings were tragically limited by his early death. "La fleur que tu m'avais j'etée," from Carmen, is a statement of all that is wrong and, at the same time, all that is right with Romantic opera: "Even though you've ruined my life, I love you!" The story could never pull this sentiment off with even a marginally attentive audience, but the great Romantic composers more than earned their commissions with the most memorable themes. "Che gelida manina" is the astounding first half of what would otherwise be an overly protracted "boy meets girl" scene in La Bohème by Giacomo Puccini, perhaps the most quoted and familiar Italian Romantic composer. Turandot's "Nessun dorma," declared by some the "tenor national anthem," provides the thrilling "victory" theme needed for a show with so implausible a theme. (Princess Turandot offers her hand in marriage to the suitor who contrives a riddle she cannot solve, or death for those whose riddles are too easy. Frankly, I don't see her getting too many offers in the real world, no matter how rich or beautiful she might be!)

The German opera composers tended toward a less idealized view the world, and used the opera form quite frequently as a platform to comment on the culture as they saw it. Though none of his works are presented tonight, Mozart is perhaps the most outspoken culture critic. He was notorious for blasting the aristocracy, and this cynicism has been adopted by subsequent German composers. In "Since it is not by merit" from The Rake's Progress by Igor Stravinsky, Tom Rakewell states quite emphatically how unimpressed he is with the "system," and avows his faith in the Fates. "Lonely House" (Street Scene, Kurt Weill) is a lovely but dark acknowledgment of the same sentiment the German composers and poets had been wallowing in since Schumann--the Weldschmerz, or "world-weariness" of life. Both of these works were composed in English, but the typical German sentiments are unavoidable.

Musical theater is a difficult genus to qualify, but not to identify. Basically "a play with lots of songs in it," the musical brings the audience into a typically more developed story than your average opera, but this is not a hard-and-fast rule. Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera is really trapped in that same Romantic mentality, largely the fault of its author, Gaston Leroux, a rather unremarkable French novelist of the 19th century. "The Music of the Night," however unintentionally, magnifies the absurdity of Romantic themes while simultaneously suspending rational thought with timeless melodies and subtle compositional techniques that rival the work of the finest opera composers. Other works, such as Aspects of Love, follow more "German" attitudes, where love is treated more frankly and honestly. "Love Changes Everything" is the culminating piece in the show, stating the ephemeral yet permanent influence of love, while "Other Pleasures" (not performed) compare the value of "things" and "experiences" with the object of one's affections.

Musicals also tend to be more successful than operas at "reinventing" stories. Like the aforementioned The Phantom of the Opera, many classic books have been adapted with greater success to musical theater than might have been possible with opera: Victor Hugo's Les Misèrables, Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, even Robert Louis Stevenson's Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. A ovely little jewel representative of this is Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden, set by Lucy Simon and Marsha Norman. The story involves the typical "love triangle" (actually, as it is worked out in the musical, a "square"), but the connective threads among the lead characters are woven with fascinating intricacy and adept complexity, with many interpersonal dynamics. "Race You to the Top of the Morning" is a parable read by night to the sleeping Collin by his deformed father, Archibald. He longs to see the sleeping boy rise from his sickbed, but for the pain of being reminded of his deceased wife Lily, he cannot bear to face the boy awake.

No one can go wrong with Shakespeare, and Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim capitalize on this fact with West Side Story, their interpretation of the Bard's Romeo and Juliet. Borrowing from the "absurdity" of Romantic images of love, the Italian Tony walks around in a daze after a dance and brief "balcony" experience with the lovely--but quite Hispanic--Maria, constantly singing praises to her name.

It is difficult to find songs that concisely exemplify music performance literature, especially when limited to one focal classification (there are many, perhaps more appropriate, examples of this literature in other vocal ranges or fachs). It is my hope that tonight's palette has provided you with an adequate supply of representative colors to paint your own understanding of performance music, and to go out and make a little performance "art" of your own!