Cliché That Ish Up!

To be cliché or not, that is the question. I say, regarding the production of Willie Stark that we watched, be cliché! I am specifically referring to the set design of the show. The immovable, bombastic stairs that engulfed the stage; I say keep them. I realize in the context of the performance they are the visual metaphor for “climbing the corporate ladder,” but I think they symbolize more than that.

Like I mentioned in my previous blog, Willie Stark is full of dichotomies and the stairs unite both sides. Donal Henahan’s review describes the stair’s effectiveness by saying, “The staging is unified, though also limited seriously, by a set that is designed around a stage-filled flight of steps, which must suggest at various times a football stadium with it’s torchlight rally, a Southern aristocrat’s salon, the homes of poverty-stricken voters and – most effectively – the assassination scene.” For the most part, I agree with Henahan except for when he describes the set as “limited.” He is not seeing the big picture if he thinks the set is limited. The stairs represent a solid, firm foundation existing in a tumultuous, ever changing world. The stairs are a grounding force that remind people, from all walks of life, that we all share similarities, meaning, we all know right from wrong. The stairs are bombastically simplistic, in the respect that you can decorate them and clean them up, but in the end stairs are stairs. Similar to Willie Stark who came from nothing, and with a little bit of guidance and self-motivation he became bigger than life; a grandiloquent exterior with a tormented interior, living in the fast lane but reminded of his simple roots.

Furthermore, I thought that the stairs provided a foundation for the three doors that set atop them. The three doors represented the choices that people make. Interestingly enough, the opera started out with three doors and by the end, only one door remained, which happened to be the door Willie Stark was assassinated next to. As the Mother Abbess, from the Sound of Music told Maria (talk about cliché), “When God closes one door, he opens another.” In Willie Stark, Mother Abbess would be wrong, wrong, WRONG! Apparently the door or path that Willie Stark chose didn’t open more doors in his life, it shut them. His poor life choices to get ahead left him with fewer and fewer options, hence closing doors. Cliché? Absolutely! Appropriate? I think so.

It Is Good As A Whole

The opera, Willie Stark incorporates an eclectic mix of styles, both musically and theatrically. A question was posed in class about listening to the music alone, and for me, that doesn’t seem like a viable option because the music needs to be in the context of the show. If one aspect of the opera were eliminated, the viewer would experience a void in the performance because the text, music, set and characters are woven together so tightly. These components that make up the opera are dependent upon one another, acting as a unit.

Now for the big question that we discussed in class: Is Willie Stark a musical or an opera? Aforementioned, the opera, which is what Floyd labeled it as, is composed of various elements that all require the utmost attention. I do not believe that one element carries the show more than another. For instance, I would not go out and purchase a recording of Willie Stark to jam to on a Sunday morning during breakfast. The music doesn’t do much for me on that level, however, used in the context of a performance, it enhance it. First and foremost, the acting needs to be extremely strong, and if it is, and the singer/actor is sensitive to the music, then the music is used to set the mood. The music augments the action on stage, just like the music you hear in movies, it adds to the suspense or emotion of a scene. (Like the music during the shower scene in Hitchcock’s movie, Pyscho… it adds to the action.) Yet, if the acting is subpar, than the music might be painful to listen to, even if the singers are superstars!

This brings up another issue: Phenomenal actor with a weaker singing voice or a diva with deadpan expressions? The correct answer is NIETHER! This production must be a challenge to cast because neither the acting nor singing should be compromised; otherwise I foresee a calamity in the future. Willie Stark, the character, is a complex individual; a charismatic and convincing façade that hides his inner torment and tumultuous personal life. The man is plagued with misfortune from his earlier years, and then lives a scandalous life in his later years. He represents the dichotomies of rich and poor, good and bad, genuine and fake. Thanks to his complexity, he is a main reason why neither the acting nor singing can be compromised. In conclusion I can see why someone might question calling Willie Stark and opera. The acting propelled the show, the music subtly described the mood, the set and full cast numbers made it seems like Broadway, and the style of singing coined it as an opera.

Director vs. Composer

During Monday’s class discussion, maintaining the musical intentions of the composer became the lively topic of conversation. Someone mentioned Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess, and how he intended the work to be performed by an African-American cast because of the historical background and his intentions should be observed. However, others ideas were tossed around about casting based on the voice versus looks and where do we draw the line? Are performances of Porgy and Bess, performed by an all white cast, true to the composer’s intentions? Suffice it to say, the discussion never came to a conclusion, but it got me thinking…

Art is subjective; it is up for interpretation by those creating it. Yes, there are guidelines that one must follow, like traditional performance practices and the wishes of the composer. However, when an artist enters into unchartered territory with a familiar work, he or she needs to be open to both criticism and/or praise. Recognizing the original intent of the composer is most important, but choosing to put your own twist on it is also okay as long as you have a reason. I think in today’s society we, as artists, need to make opera more emotionally accessible to the general public in order to create a stir or spark some interest, which is why I support new interpretations of traditional and nontraditional operatic works.

Although I’m not a fan of the all white version of Porgy and Bess, I realized I’m a bit of a hypocrite because, as I was watching Satyagraha, all I could think of was Martin Luther King Jr. What if the music and libretto stayed the same, but it was King’s life being portrayed instead of Gandhi’s? Essentially, my idea is comparable to the person who wanted the all white version of Porgy and Bess because it is an event I can relate to more easily, which helps me to connect with the music on a deeper level. If you think about it for a moment it would make since. Yes, the Sanskrit is not authentic to King, but the ideals and the struggles are. Or, what if the opera was a tribute to both Gandhi and King? The stage could be divided in half and the two stories acting out in tandem? Would this make Glass’s opera more accessible to the American people? Would Americans be more likely to go to an opera that is advertised as a tribute to Martin Luther King Jr.? I know that this idea is not the original intention of the composer, but if it could reach a completely different group of people, then isn’t that doing the composer a service? I guess I will save the answer to these questions for a later date because I’m a bit torn on how to properly answer them. I guess it boils down to director versus composer; which one do you think should win?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYaLLX_bF7c&feature=related

Here is a clip of Cirque du Soliel... maybe I'm crazy but Glass's Satyagraha could pull it off!

Open to Interpretation

It was so hard to sit and class on Thursday and not discuss the artistic aspects of Glass’s Satyagraha because the marriage between the visual and audio for this opera is paramount. In general, I really enjoyed Glass’s opera, so if I happen use words that have negative connotations, I mean the in the most positive way possible. Watching the Freyer’s version of Satyagraha reminded me of a trippy nightmare that you didn’t want to wake up from. The work moved so slowly and the music was extremely repetitive, but I found myself mesmerized by any subtle change. The opera was similar to watching a flower bloom; you don’t realize it is blossoming until it is fully open. The smallest changes fascinated me, whether it was a dynamic change in the music or a change of movement. This made me realize there is a plethora of ways that this opera could be performed because it relies so heavily on the visual aesthetic to propel the music forward.

Let me begin by saying that I have had very minimal exposure to Glass and his works. With that said, my first thought for his opera would be to use it for film. This is rather ironic considering his music has been used in films, which I discovered during my You Tube escapes, and thus started listening to some of his other works. I listened to clips form The Truman Show and The Illusionist and it is unequivocally Glass. Now that I have been exposed to his music I’m noticing that he has a very distinct sound. Hence, I it made me feel slightly justified in my film idea for Satyahraha. Potentially, the music could act as a soundtrack to a documentary about Gandhi or it could act as a silent film. Let me clarify. I feel like the actions that occur in Freyer’s version are so profound because of the subtlety in change. Yet, I thought the movement of the singers’ mouths disrupted the stillness in some of the scenes. I realize this is an odd statement since it is an opera. However, if you portrayed this opera on film, you could have motions and a story line without words with the music acting as a soundtrack, propelling the motion forward. I suppose Tim Burton and I need to work out some kinks before hitting the big screen!

Another thought that found it’s way into my brain was the idea of performing it like a Cirque du Soleil performance. Many of the Cirque du Soleil shows have a story line and some of the music incorporated into the performance is very repetitive. Moreover, approaching it in this way takes on a whole different element regarding the visual realm because Satyagraha would be propelled kinesthetically. Also, I think you could take this to another level, similar to Kurt Weil’s portrayal of Anna in The Seven Deadly Sins. Gandhi could be represented as two people; the motionless singer and the silent interpreter of motion. I think that Glass leaves the director a lot of room for stage interpretation because he leaves little room for change in the music.

Ms. Price Is In The House!

It was brought up in class that Barber wrote the role of Cleopatra for Leontyne Price, which made me wonder why? She possessed a powerful, penetrating, beautiful instrument and it was wasted, in my opinion, on a score written with barely any beauty. I realize that she had core and earthiness to her lower notes, sailing, mellifluous high notes, and she could sing the extremes with ease. Amazing? Absolutely, which is why he wanted her. It’s just disappointing that the opulent beauty of her voice wasn’t always captured by the music, through no fault of her own. Getting past technique and vocal prowess of Price, she was more than singer and Barber knew it.

The Heyman article made specific note of the assiduous studying that Price did to master the role of Cleopatra. “In preparation for her role as Cleopatra, Price put herself in almost complete isolation for a year, accepting as few singing engagements as possible. She read every book she could find, including Plutarch, on Cleopatra, ‘the strongest character I have played to date,’ Price said, ‘and the most provocative.” To facilitate proper pronunciation, she went through the whole play with the British actress Irene Worth and listened to a recording of it…”

Did Barber know she would go to such great lengths to perfect her role? Yes, I believe he did. He was probably aware that her deep understanding of the part could translate both on and off stage. In class we talked about how Cleopatra is the one who runs the story, and we get to know Anthony vicariously through her. Her words, her songs, her emotions are what construct our views of Anthony. Barber chose Price because he knew she would encapsulate everything that Cleopatra represented. Ranging from Price’s voice, radiant beauty, strong confidence, erudition, profundity and most of all her artistry. Cleopatra embodied strength, sensuousness and power, which Price could capture with her presence and voice. Although Barber’s vision, of the opera, was less grandiose than Zefferelli’s, Price had the facility to handle anything. Who else could compete against live animals, a sphinx, and pyramids? Who else could remain calm when lighting cues were misfired or the pyramid she was to emerge from wouldn’t open? Seriously, who has the lung capacity to sing through walls like her and still be heard? In essence, what makes a truly great singer? What motivates a composer to write for such talent? As a student, you keep putting pieces of the puzzle together and keep trying to make your own path, and this article was another revelation. It made me realize how deep a true artist needs to go, even if the opera ended up being a flop. However, I suppose it’s like trying to define music; it’s a life long study of subjectivity that people try to write about in a few sentences, but can never give a complete answer.

A "Sequence of Pleasing Sounds"???

It was a challenge trying to muster up any enthusiasm, after watching the clips of Barber’s Antony and Cleopatra, to actually listen to the whole opera. Don’t get me wrong if I were offered a role in it, I would JUMP at the opportunity. Maybe then I would start to appreciate it? Suffice it to say, based on listening alone, I thought Antony and Cleopatra was esoteric, forgettable and an absolute chore to get through. However painful my listening experience was, it got me thinking about the idea of music and what makes a musical work memorable or forgettable.

According to the fourth edition of Webster’s New World College Dictionary, the definition of music is:

MUSIC: 1. The art and science of combining vocal or instrumental sounds or tones in varying melody, harmony, rhythm, and timbre, esp. so as to form structurally complete and emotionally expressive compositions. 2. The sounds or tones so arranged, or the arrangement of these. 3. Any rhythmic sequence of pleasing sounds, as of birds, water, etc… 4. Particular form, style, etc… of musical compositions or a particular class of musical works of a particular style, place, period, or composer. 5. The written or printed score of a musical composition. 6. Ability to respond to or take pleasure in music. 7. [Rare] a group of musical performers – [Informal] to accept the consequences of ones actions, however unpleasant (Face the music).

Yes, at first glance, it is an extremely long definition, however, if you consider what music really is, then, it should take a lifetime to accurately explain. Moreover, many of us who are taking this class have spent an exorbitant amount of time trying to figure out the meaning of this noun. Therefore, to have it reduced to a few measly sentences is rather disheartening and/or slightly insulting. Yet, I found the definition rather interesting because it was primarily an objective definition naming the different facets of music, except for number three. The third part of the definition states, “ rhythmic sequence of pleasing sounds, as of birds water, etc…” Interesting. This is the only part of the definition I found to be accurate, mainly because it captures the essence of what music is; a subjective entity that is open to interpretation. This brings me back to my original question: what makes a musical work memorable or forgettable?

Personally, Antony and Cleopatra, was not a “sequence of pleasing sounds...” and I thought it was forgettable or I just wanted to forget about it. This got me wondering, what is it about a musical work that makes it memorable and loved? I thought back to the pervious week when talked about My Fair Lady, The Most Happy Fella, and Westside Story. We discussed certain aspects of each show that propelled then forward and gave them their own unique quality. The acting and the text drove My Fair Lady, The Most Happy Fella was driven by music, and Westside Story was driven by dance. Most of all, they possessed tangible story lines, memorable tunes and relatable characters, which are aspects that potentially move the human soul. I guess that is probably why Barber focused more on Antony and Cleopatra’s relationship in the revision. He was lacking all of the necessary attributes that make a show likeable; he needed to scale down and isolate the story’s focus on a real-life human situation.

Interestingly enough his revision worked, even though he didn’t get to enjoy the fruits of his labors. I realize I’m approaching this piece negatively, so forgive my litany of complaints, but it is apparent that someone liked it because it won a Grammy Award. This brings me to my final credo, which is; music is a subjective phenomena. A sound that is pleasing to my ears may be repulsive to someone else. Or, is that we, as humans, don’t like to accept something different at first? Are innovation and change things we can’t accept until a new generation grasps them and calls them classics? For instance, in 100 years, is Antony and Cleopatra going to be the new Tosca? NO. Thus, I’ll leave you with a quote from Louis Spohr, from Stark’s Bel Canto, who is referring to Rossini in his tirade on “new music.” “With his ‘flowery song,’ regardless of the pleasures it excites, he is well on the way to putting an end to real song, of which not much is left in Italy anyways.” So, if someone found Rossini distasteful, maybe I could be wrong in my criticisms of Barber’s Antony and Cleopatra?

Sexuality, Is It Relevant?

After reading Elizabeth Crist’s interesting article on Bernstein, I decided to read Nadine Hubbs’ article, Berstein, Homophobia, Historiography, from the journal Women and Music: A Journal of Gender and Culture. The article was very insightful and it heightened my awareness to the role that sexuality played in Bernstein’s life and in his musical works. The article conjured up many thoughts and questions about how sexuality might have played a role in Candide, if any at all.

As I said in my first blog entry, I believe Bernstein was a conflicted individual, caught between two contrasting worlds. Bernstein lived in an era where the autonomy of the individual caused trepidation to ripple throughout the government, liberals or conservatives alike. Bernstein posed two threats to this era: he celebrated social and civil values in his musical works and the ambiguity of his sexual preference was always being questioned. Around the 1940’s, homosexuals were being ostracized based solely on sexual preference. For example, homosexual men and women who served in the military were discharged and blacklisted.

Prior to marriage, Bernstein’s sexual ambiguity adversely affected him when he was denied the director’s position with the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra, in 1947, because they suspected that he was gay. This catapulted him into a heterosexual marriage that sent his career in an upward trajectory. This façade he hid behind allowed him to win the orchestral post with the New York Philharmonic, but only because he told one of the panel members that, his dear friend and competitor, Dimitri Mitropolous was gay. Additionally, his heterosexual veil allowed him to have homosexual extra marital rendezvous’, which he kept very discreet until later years.

All of the aforementioned information is from the Hubb’s article, which propels me to think that Bernstein is pulling a double-edged sword. The fact that he was victim to discrimination and then the culprit of it only shows how divided he truly was with his sexuality. It also makes me wonder if this influenced any aspect of Candide, or am I over analyzing something that is not there? What about the character Maximilian? He was subjected to sexual encounters with men, he cross-dressed, AND he had stereotypical, gay characteristics. Is Bernstein making a mockery of himself as another way to mask his true identity? Having only seen the Kristin Chenoweth version, I’m curious to see how Maximilian was portrayed in other versions of Candide. Furthermore, is Cunegonde’s confusing love life of rampant sexual encounters and her indecisive desire to be with Candide symbolic of Bernstein’s own personal struggles with love? Again, reading both articles may have made my search for symbolism overly ambitious. However, Candide is full of political, social and moral layers, some of which seem very close to the composer's heart.

A Divided Candide

This past week, in class, we discussed the various facets that are pervasive throughout Leonard Bernstein’s Candide. The political, social and moral undertones of the show created different opinions on how people thought Candide should be artistically represented. One person preferred the Parisian version of Candide because it really brought out the sobering intensions of Voltaire’s writing, which were less than optimistic. The Parisian version was a juxtaposition of controversial events of the present and controversial events of the past, which only made the historical truths behind Candide even more biting and raw to modern day viewers. Conversely, another person related with the Kristen Chenoweth version because of the optimistic irony highlighted the deep-rooted issues with humor and sarcasm.

I think one reason for these contrasting views of Candide can be linked to Bernstein who, like Candide, was struggling, socially, politically, morally and domestically. The show ubiquitously makes references to Communist and Capitalist views and it scoffs at sexuality, race and religion. The show is always presenting a dichotomy: Jewish versus Christian, Communist versus Capitalist, straight versus gay, and just versus unjust. Interestingly enough, these are some of the exact issues that tormented Bernstein throughout his life. These struggles that Bernstein experienced are prevalent in Candide, who is continually searching for his “utopia,” yet when he is faced with pernicious obstacles, he remains positive. The ambivalence of the ending number, “Make Our Garden Grow,” symbolizes Bernstein’s and/or Candide’s conflicting world’s merging into “the best of all possible worlds.” I realize that quote is viewed as a satirical statement referring to McCarthyism, but I think that it can have another meaning as well. It’s not purely communist or capitalist views that prevail in the last song; it’s about finding balance and good in an unjust world. Bernstein realized that in an ideal world everyone helps one another, but individual expression and growth must not be compromised. He also toys with the idea of a perfect world as being unfulfilling. For instance, in the El Dorado scene, both Candide and Pauquette were living in peaceful harmony, yet both of them were experiencing an inner void. I think that void is the perfection of the imperfections that life already provides.

“Make Our Garden Grow,” symbolizes more than political views, it heightens our awareness that we, as humans, need to be responsible to social and moral change. Most of all, the song advocates working together and compromise. In order to find peace, we need to find a way to live together, whether it’s being a capitalist, communist, Jewish, Christian, black or white. Candide brings out human differences throughout the show until the end, when all that matters are the similarities that we share. As a concluding thought, I think Bernstein’s views are ambivalent thanks to the fact that he himself was unable to describe his ideal world, but he did know one thing: the world is not “sugar cake,” but sometimes you are able to get a taste of what it could be.