AndrewAndJoshua

We Should Have Been At The Kimbell

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Thu, 23 May 2013 20:22:00 +0000

On Sunday afternoon, Joshua and I heard the Dallas Symphony in a program devoted to music of Wagner. The conductor was the orchestra’s Music Director, Jaap van Zweden.

Act I of “Die Walküre" was the primary work on the program.

Zweden was lost in “Die Walküre". Wagnerian melos was not to be heard under Zweden’s baton. The conductor had no grasp of the drama depicted in one of Wagner’s greatest spans of music; the conductor was unable to unleash the emotions that surge through Wagner’s score.

The ebb and flow Wagner built into his music, a never-ending cycle of tension and release, had been ironed out by Zweden. Everything was too swift, everything was too light, everything was too objective, everything was too uninflected, everything was too vaporous. Zweden might as well have been conducting a “number” opera, given his inability to build a head of steam and command a long time span.

I wondered whether Zweden’s swift tempi constituted a concession to an inadequate cast of singers.

The Siegmund was Clifton Forbis, possessor of a dry, grainy voice that sounded years past its prime. (It is my understanding that Forbis is in the process of giving up the stage.)

The Sieglinde was Heidi Melton, who did not for one second capture Sieglinde’s radiance. Melton has no individuality at all: Melton’s voice lacks distinctive qualities, Melton’s artistry is all-purpose. Wagnerians would be unable to pick out Melton’s Sieglinde from a police audio lineup.

The Hundig was Eric Owens. Owens had the only first-class voice onstage. Owens’s voice is incredibly rich, with amazing depth and resonance, and it is a voice of great beauty and of unique timbre. Owens is destined to achieve stardom.

Owens is not a Wagner singer. Owens’s voice is an “open”, “American” voice, with an open, American sound, ideal for American music—and no other. Owens was at sea in trying to shape Wagner’s phrases—and his German seemed to have been picked up in Appalachia.

Owens had been scheduled to sing Adams’s “The Wound Dresser” with the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra this season. It was an appearance Josh and I had looked forward to. We hope the SPCO will reschedule “The Wound Dresser” with Owens in the next season or two.

Three Wagner orchestral works were played prior to Act I of “Die Walküre”.

The concert began with the Prelude to “Lohengrin”.

Zweden chose a very quick tempo, but—fatally—he could not find a pulse, and the players were unable to help Zweden find a pulse. The result was a disastrous performance, false entries everywhere, uncomfortable looks on faces all over the stage. Balancing was an issue: the brass was too prominent, the strings under-nourished and colorless and faceless.

I was dumbfounded. The “Lohengrin” Prelude is nothing more than an extended crescendo-decrescendo. Any conductor should be able to lead the work capably—and yet Zweden had offered a performance that would have been unacceptable in a provincial outpost.

The Prelude to Act III of “Lohengrin” followed. Zweden played it as orchestral showpiece, in the manner of Arthur Fiedler.

Next came the Prelude to “Die Meistersinger”. Zweden’s tempi were too fast, and he did not catch the work’s exultation and grandeur—or even the necessary dignity and nobility.

The counterpoint of “Meistersinger” neither registered nor “spoke” as it must—“Meistersinger” is nothing but a glorious display of counterpoint writing—and balancing issues clearly were the root cause of the counterpoint deficiencies. Instrumental lines that should have been heard were inaudible, subsidiary lines that should have remained subsidiary often became overpowering. Counterpoint not telling in Zweden’s hands, the “Meistersinger” Prelude came across much like a French potpourri overture by Hérold—the very thing that would have appalled the composer of “Meistersinger”.

I last heard the Dallas Symphony in February 2008. The orchestra was in much better shape in 2008 than it is today.

On Sunday, balancing was off all afternoon. I did not hear a proper balance once.

The string section was unable to produce the glow Wagner’s music demands. It has been a long time since I heard such featureless, bland, anemic string playing.

The winds did not register as they must, weaving in and out of the musical line, taking charge one moment, disappearing into the orchestral fabric the next.

The brass playing was very disappointing. The section did not produce a uniform, integrated sound.

All afternoon, the musicians played as if they were bored by the music, and unconvinced by Zweden’s interpretations.

Perhaps the Dallas musicians were suffering from exhaustion at the end of a long concert season that had included a grueling tour of Europe.

Perhaps substitute musicians contributed to the haphazard nature of the orchestra’s work. Numerous substitute musicians were on the Dallas concert platform on Sunday, including two brass principals (trumpet, horn) that are members of orchestras elsewhere (Chicago, Baltimore).

Whatever the causes of the shortcomings, what we heard on Sunday was basically unforgivable, coming as it did from what is supposed to be a major ensemble.

If Sunday’s Wagner concert is representative of Zweden’s work in Dallas, the Dallas Symphony has a major problem on its hands.

Josh and I should have devoted Sunday afternoon to the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth.

A Bird’s-Eye View Of Meyerson Symphony Center

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Tue, 21 May 2013 18:54:00 +0000

I. M. Pei’s Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center in Dallas.

Meyerson, which opened in 1989, is probably North America’s finest concert hall. Its interior is glorious, and its auditorium is renowned worldwide for its remarkable acoustics.

Taking advantage of the fact that we were in Dallas, Joshua and I went to Meyerson on Sunday afternoon to hear the Dallas Symphony in Act I of Wagner’s “Die Walküre".

Nicholas At Age 18

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Fri, 17 May 2013 00:43:00 +0000

Nicholas in 1886, when he was Tsarevich.

Nicholas became Nicholas II eight years later, at age 26, upon the death of his father, Alexander III, who succumbed to kidney failure at age 49.

“He Wanted The Kingdom Of God On Earth”

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Thu, 16 May 2013 03:44:00 +0000

An outtake from Philip Kaufman’s 1988 film, “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being”.

The scenes depicting the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia were filmed in Lyon.

“The Unbearable Lightness Of Being” is one of the greatest of all American films—yet its sensibility is purely Eastern European. This dichotomy has always fascinated me.

The film is the only one from Kaufman’s work list that is even remotely interesting. Everything else Kaufman directed was commercial hackwork, yet “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being” is a masterpiece of cinema. This, too, has always fascinated me.

Is there another American film so multi-layered and so multi-textured? And so subtle?

The first time I saw “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being”, I was floored. I had not believed American cinema was capable of producing something like “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being”.

The film was clearly influenced by the French New Wave, but “The Unbearable Lightness Of Being” is much better than anything produced by the filmmakers of the New Wave group. It has largeness of scope, grandeur of vision, generosity of spirit, and technical perfection—qualities far beyond the skill-set of French New Wave directors.

The film was a bomb at the box office worldwide. I would have thought the film to have appeal simply because of its surface love story, yet audiences everywhere stayed away. Perhaps the three-hour length was the problem, or perhaps the overwhelming sadness and melancholy that permeate the film were off-putting.

I have not read the Milan Kundera novel. My mother HAS read the novel, in two translations, French and English, and she says it may be THE great novel of the late 20th Century.

Kundera disliked the film version immensely, despite having had roles as consultant and contributing writer during production. Kundera was so unhappy with the film that he barred all future adaptations of his work.

The first time I saw the film, I almost cried when Tomáš and Tereza died at the end. It was the one and only time in my life when I came close to crying at the movies.

I realized, of course, that their deaths were to be viewed, at least in part, as releases. The deaths occurred only once Tomáš and Tereza had found contentment and happiness after years of turmoil, and only after they had provided for—or buried—everyone important to them.

I realized, too, that the spirits of Tomáš and Tereza were expected to live on in Sabina—and, perhaps, provide Sabina at long last with the grounding she had always lacked.

Nonetheless, I had been unprepared for their deaths. Tomáš and Tereza, beatific looks on their faces, homeward bound after a daylong outing featuring a beautiful celebration, were driving through bucolic countryside during gentle rain showers one minute—and gone the next.

I was shaken.

I had not seen it coming.

Seventy Years Ago Today

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Tue, 14 May 2013 01:08:00 +0000

On 13 May 1943, the Afrika Korps, along with all other Axis forces in North Africa, surrendered to the Allies.

The above photograph is one of the great Erwin Rommel photographs from the North Africa campaign. The photograph dates from 1942.

Also on this day: The War Of The Bavarian Succession—known in Austria as “The Plum War”—ended in 1779.

Another Nautical Show

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Mon, 13 May 2013 01:38:00 +0000

The three sailors, on 24-hour shore leave in New York, in Bloomington Civic Theatre’s “On The Town”.

Two Musicals

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Mon, 13 May 2013 01:34:00 +0000

As a general rule, we tend to avoid musicals, but the current season has proven an exception to practice: we have attended an unusually large number of musicals this season.

We caught two musical productions this weekend.

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On Friday evening, my parents, my middle brother, and Joshua and I went to Saint Paul, where we saw The National Touring Company production of the 2011 Broadway revival of the 1934 Cole Porter musical, “Anything Goes”.

The National Touring Company production of “Anything Goes” opened in Cleveland in early October and will close in Orange County, California, in late September. It features the actual sets and costumes used on Broadway, unusual for a touring production, and it features a sizable orchestra, also unusual for a touring production.

We enjoyed the presentation immensely. “Anything Goes” has several excellent numbers, and they were put across capably by a company not yet showing signs of road weariness.

The 2011 Broadway revival was based upon the 1987 Broadway revival mounted for Patti LuPone. Songs from other Porter musicals had been interpolated into the 1987 production, and they remain in the current production. Such a practice is not out-of-place in the case of Porter songs: Porter songs are “numbers”, not character studies, and all Porter musicals of the 1930s and 1940s carry the same basic tinctura (not necessarily true of the composer’s 1950s shows). No issues of “integrity” arise when Porter songs are shuffled in and out of his pre-1950s musicals.

Rachel York—who, to the best of my recollection, I had not seen before—portrayed Reno Sweeney. York was just good enough, no more, to carry the show.

Persons that saw the 1987 Broadway revival of “Anything Goes” have remarked that the 2011 revival is much inferior, almost wan in comparison.

The song-and-dance numbers are so good, however, that “Anything Goes” warrants periodic revival, even in a production that proves to be less than exceptional.

What we saw in Saint Paul was in no way memorable, but it was exceedingly pleasurable.

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This afternoon, Josh and I took my mother and my sister-in-law to Bloomington to see Bloomington Civic Theatre’s production of the 1944 Leonard Bernstein-Betty Comden-Adolph Green musical, “On The Town”.

I am not an admirer of “On The Town”. I do not think the material is good, and the score leaves me completely cold.

To the extent it survives at all, “On The Town” survives solely on the community-theater circuit. The show is no longer taken up by major theaters.

After its first Broadway run (December 1944 to February 1946), “On The Town” was never again to be successful in New York. Over the years, there have been two costly attempts to revive the show on Broadway, one in 1971 and another in 1998, and both attempts were commercial and critical failures.

A single West End production was attempted, in 1963; it, too, closed virtually overnight.

There are two major problems with “On The Town”: the three male leads are insufficiently differentiated, which prevents an audience from connecting with them (the three female leads, much more carefully written, are a different matter); and the score is remarkably weak, derivative and unoriginal to an alarming degree. One wonders why even community theaters bother with “On The Town” these days.

The Bloomington production was not good. The 24-piece orchestra was superb, by far the most pleasing aspect of the production. Of the cast, stage design, stage direction and choreography, I can offer nothing positive.

For the current season, Bloomington Civic Theatre batted .500 in its presentations of musicals—and, probably for the first time ever, we attended all four musical productions.

The season opened with a lame production of “42nd Street”, a production in which the actress playing ingénue Peggy Sawyer looked old enough to be the mother of the actor portraying wizened theater director Julian Marsh.

The season continued with an exceptional and costly production of “Sunday In The Park With George”, a production worthy of the highest praise.

A magnificent and costly “Cabaret” followed, a production I would have been happy to sit through half a dozen times.

The season-ending “On The Town” was a listless, low-budget affair that invoked memories of the inept “42nd Street” that had opened the season.

In the 2012-2013 season, Bloomington Civic Theatre’s budget—said to be by far the largest civic-theater budget in the country—clearly had been directed to the Sondheim and Kander-and-Ebb shows.

The four musicals announced for next season: “Singin' in the Rain”; “Les Misérables”; “The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee”; and “Gypsy”.

I suspect we shall skip them all.

Aboard The “S.S. American”

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Sat, 11 May 2013 19:21:00 +0000

A scene from The National Touring Company production of the 2011 Broadway revival of Cole Porter’s “Anything Goes”, which we caught last night in Saint Paul.

In Ripken’s Footsteps?

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Fri, 10 May 2013 18:08:00 +0000

Cal Ripken, Jr., had a twenty-year career in the major leagues—exceedingly long by baseball standards, and unprecedented for a Shortstop (Ripken moved to Third Base for his final few seasons)—and over two decades Ripken built up an astonishing fan base and an enormous reservoir of goodwill that will last him throughout his life.

No athlete since Ripken, in any sport, has been able to acquire and maintain such a gilt-edged reputation among the nation’s sports fans.

But if an athlete is to follow in Ripken’s footsteps, it will be Aaron Craft.

Craft has been on the national scene only three years, but he has already become the most respected and most fascinating college basketball player of my lifetime—and big box-office at Ohio State as well as on the road (the latter is unprecedented in recent decades). Fans all over the country now line up to have their photographs taken with Craft, a phenomenon unique in the history of college basketball.

Officials at Ohio State realized that Craft was a dream student/athlete as soon as Craft arrived on campus. The Ohio State Athletic Department immediately made Craft available to the press (a most unusual practice in the case of Freshman athletes) and Craft instantly became a fixture at Ohio State press events. Jim Delany, Commissioner of The Big Ten Conference, was quick to realize that in Craft The Big Ten had a major star on its hands—and Craft was soon to be seen, year-round, on The Big Ten Network.

Perhaps most interesting of all: at the nation’s premiere football school, a basketball player is now the premiere athlete. Craft is the biggest celebrity ever on the Ohio State campus. His every move is tweeted instantly by Ohio State students.

Craft is listed as 6’2”. Under normal circumstances, that height would be too short to play in the NBA. However, if Craft gets drafted—and he has given some intimation that he would like to play in the NBA—he would be capable of elevating and transforming the sport. Further, Craft’s presence in the league would go a long way in helping the NBA to clean up its less-than-spotless image.

Craft, a brilliant student, ultimately plans to become a physician.

He can solve a Rubik’s Cube in less than one minute (and has been filmed doing so).

The Greatest Season Ever?

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Wed, 08 May 2013 21:08:00 +0000

Cal Ripken, Jr., in 1991.

In 1991, Ripken had what may have been the greatest season ever in the history of baseball. One must go back almost 100 years to find valid comparisons.

Ripken turned 31 years old that summer. He had already reinvented the shortstop position, transforming it from a pure defensive position into an offensive-and-defensive power position. The game of baseball has never been the same since.

Ripken had the greatest defensive season ever in 1991—the only genuine competition comes from Ripken himself and his 1990 season—and yet Ripken’s offensive statistics in 1991 were staggering, too. His season was so phenomenal that, at season’s end, Ripken was awarded Major League Baseball’s MVP, the second time in his career Ripken won the award (he had first been honored with MVP in 1983).

That anyone at age 31 can even PLAY shortstop (the most exposed position on the field) is remarkable. That someone at age 31 can play shortstop at so high a level is historic.

In addition to capturing the 1991 MVP, Ripken also won the 1991 Gold Glove Award, the 1991 Louisville Slugger Award and was named MVP of the 1991 All Star Game. Amazingly, Ripken also won the Home Run Derby that season. That such a long string of awards, offensive and defensive, was conferred—deservedly—on one player was unprecedented.

Things really do not get any better than Cal Ripken in 1991.

Yet, in 1995, things were to get better still . . .

What To Do About Osmo Vänskä’s Threat And Failure Of Leadership

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Thu, 02 May 2013 21:37:00 +0000

What to do about Osmo Vänskä’s threat and failure of leadership?

There is only one realistic answer.

Harvard Business School and Stanford Business School advise enterprises—as a cardinal rule—always to accept threatened resignations . . . with IMMEDIATE effect.

All other courses of action are destined to fail, and fail miserably, both short-term and long-term.

The course is now set. Going forward, as long as Vänskä remains in Minnesota, there will be nothing but trouble, into perpetuity.

Update of Sunday, May 5, 2013, at 5:36 p.m. C.D.T.:

Apparently Vänskä does not like this post.

And apparently he does not like the comments, either.

Vänskä is especially irate over this particular comment, of all things, which he forwarded to four persons, complaining vociferously.

One of the message recipients telephoned my father a few minutes ago, to let my father know of Vänskä’s concern.

Why Vänskä would single out that particular comment for objection is beyond me.

Might I suggest that in future Vänskä go easier on the vodka?

Leningrad Under Siege, 1941

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Thu, 02 May 2013 03:18:00 +0000

Leningrad under siege, 1941.

The photograph was taken at the intersection of Nevsky Prospect and Ligovsky Prospect.

The victims in the photograph had succumbed to German artillery shells, randomly launched from great distance into the city.

Had the photograph been taken one year later, starvation would have been the theme. At least 750,000 Leningraders succumbed to starvation during the siege—some have argued the mortality figure was twice that number—and Russia was as much at fault for the final death toll as Germany.

Well before the siege was underway, Stalin had refused to evacuate or provision the city.

Transmogrifications

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 01:45:00 +0000

At the beginning of the season, Joshua and I had penciled into our calendars a Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra concert for Sunday, May 5, at Ted Mann Concert Hall. (The Sunday performance was to be the only performance that weekend at a traditional concert venue—and we prefer traditional concert venues to church venues, where acoustics are variable and unpredictable.)

The original program: Schoenberg’s Ten Early Dances; Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 2; Webern’s Langsamer Satz (from the composer’s String Quartet); and Mozart’s Symphony No. 28. The conductor/soloist was to be Thomas Zehetmair.

Somewhere along the line, the program was quietly changed to: Schoenberg’s Ten Early Dances; Mozart’s Symphony No. 28; Heinz Holliger’s Sketches For Violin And Viola; and Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante, K. 364. In the revised program, Zehetmair’s wife was to have joined the orchestra as viola soloist in the final two works.

Performances for the first weekend in May have been shelved.

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For the second weekend in May, the SPCO was scheduled to play solely in church venues—but the program had been so interesting that Josh and I had penciled it into our calendars as a prospective concert of interest.

The original program: Andrew Norman’s Gran Turismo; Schumann’s Cello Concerto; and Hartmann’s Symphony No. 4. Zehetmair was again scheduled to conduct; the announced cellist was Steven Isserlis.

SPCO concerts will resume that weekend, and Zehetmair and Isserlis will honor their contracts. However, the program has changed.

The new program: Mozart’s “The Marriage Of Figaro” Overture; Schumann’s Cello Concerto; Schoenberg’s Ten Early Dances (saved from the discarded program of the previous week); and Mozart’s Symphony No. 39.

We shall not go. The Hartmann was what we had most wanted to hear.

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We had penciled into our calendars another SPCO concert for Sunday, May 19, at Ted Mann Concert Hall (it was, again, to be the sole performance of the weekend at a traditional concert hall).

Zehetmair was once again scheduled to be on the podium.

The original program: J. Strauss, Jr.’s “Roses From The South” in the Schoenberg arrangement; J. Strauss, Jr.’s “Emperor” Waltz in the composer’s own arrangement for small orchestra; Charles Wuorinen’s Spin 5 For Violin And 18 Players; and Mozart’s Symphony No. 39 (now moved up to the previous week).

The amended program: Honegger’s Pastorale d'été; Saint-Saëns’s Symphony No. 2; Holliger’s Three Sketches For Violin And Viola (rescued from the amended program for the first week of May); and Mozart’s Sinfonia Concertante (also rescued from the amended program for the first week of May). Both Mr. and Mrs. Zehetmair will participate in the program.

We shall not be in attendance. We shall be in Dallas that weekend, attending Josh’s brother’s commencement at S.M.U. (and hearing the Dallas Symphony in Act I of “Die Walküre”).

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We had penciled into our calendars another SPCO concert for the first weekend in June, to be played in the Ordway.

The original program: Berlioz’s Les nuits d'été; and Erwin Stein’s chamber arrangement of Mahler’s Symphony No. 4. Edo de Waart was the scheduled conductor, Isabel Leonard the scheduled soloist.

The program has been amended: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 2 will now replace the Mahler. Conductor and soloist remain unchanged.

It is very unlikely we shall attend. If we go, it will be because of Leonard, and not because of de Waart.

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In January of this year, the SPCO had offered each SPCO player a $10,000 signing bonus to be paid at the time a new deal was reached.

The final terms of the agreement provide only for a $3,000 signing bonus.

Everyone in town knows the circumstances of the reduction, but I doubt news outlets will address the matter.

Along Suffolk Lanes

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 20:51:00 +0000

[Benjamin Britten] adored the company of boys. As John Bridcut revealed in his groundbreaking “Britten’s Children” in 2006, the composer had intense crushes on a string of 13-year-olds, during which the recipients were invited to Aldeburgh and treated like Greek gods. The pattern was always the same. Britten would dazzle each with his charisma, write letters couched in what now seems like creepy, infatuated language, ply them with treats, swim and play tennis with them, whizz them along Suffolk lanes in his sports car, hug them—and sometimes (as with the screen actor David Hemmings, who as a boy had been the original Miles in “The Turn of the Screw”) share a bed.

There is, one should say, no evidence that he went farther. “Am I a lecher just because I enjoy the company of children?” he once spat at the conductor Sir Charles Mackerras, who had quipped that Britten’s “Noye’s Fludde”, with its big children’s chorus, was “Ben’s paradise”.

But then, soon after they reached puberty, the boys were inevitably discarded in favour of next year’s model, often with peremptory callousness (Britten had a notoriously fickle attitude to people who were no longer useful).

Richard Morrison, writing in The Times on 19 January 2013

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We did not have the stomachs to sit through two recent presentations of Britten operas in the Twin Cities.

The weekend before last, University Of Minnesota Opera Theatre presented four performances of Britten’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. I dislike the work intensely—the music is weak-as-water—and it would have been a chore for us to endure one of the performances. In any event, the University Of Minnesota has a dismayingly mediocre Music Department—not the case half a century ago—and has not been able to attract a satisfactory level of faculty talent or student talent for twenty or thirty years.

The weekend just ended featured two performances of Britten’s “Paul Bunyan” by VocalEssence, a local organization that—in its former incarnation, Plymouth Music Series—made a famous recording of “Paul Bunyan” more than twenty years ago. Opportunities to hear “Paul Bunyan” are exceedingly rare, but we did not avail ourselves of the chance.

I more or less share the thoughts of Igor Stravinsky, Herbert Von Karajan and Pierre Boulez when it comes to the music of Britten: the music is so second-rate, why does anyone bother?

MOMIX In “Botanica”

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 22:01:00 +0000

A scene from Moses Pendleton’s “Botanica”, as performed by MOMIX.

Joshua's reaction: "I think I've seen this before, about a hundred times."

Rooted In Vaudeville

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 21:36:00 +0000

On Sunday evening, my parents, my sister-in-law, and Joshua and I went downtown to The Cowles Center to see MOMIX.

It was our first visit to The Cowles Center, which opened in September 2011. The Cowles Center is a venue primarily devoted to modern dance, and is comprised of three buildings: the former Schubert Theatre, completed in 1910, and moved from its previous location a few blocks away; the former eight-story Masonic Temple, completed in 1888; and a new connecting structure that features an atrium.

The restoration of the Schubert Theatre was not a success. The original Beaux Arts design was not respected, inside or out, and the auditorium was reconfigured, with seating reduced from 1500 to 500. I have never seen a more dismal or cheap-looking renovation result—and the auditorium is an out-and-out aesthetic disaster.

The new connecting structure is merely bad 1960s architecture, something already half-a-century out-of-date by the time it was designed. I predict the wrecking ball will be called in within twenty or thirty years.

It is somehow fitting that the name Cowles is attached to this less-than-pleasing array of buildings. Over the years, I have observed, as a general rule, that people begin to snort and roll their eyes whenever the name John Cowles, Jr., is mentioned. Cowles, not a man of impeccable reputation, was a bit of a gadfly and a bit of a scoundrel and a bit of a loon. He came perilously close to destroying the Minneapolis Star-Tribune before a reluctant Board Of Directors intervened and discharged him. Even though his views, on any subject, were considered by no one to be penetrating or thoughtful, Cowles interjected himself for decades into virtually every public activity and public controversy in the State Of Minnesota. The man was incapable of embarrassment: late in life, Cowles joined a modern dance troupe and began doing nude scenes—which I am very much pleased I missed. When Cowles died, local obituary writers had a field day, there being so much delicious material from which to draw.

MOMIX’s current piece is “Botanica”, unveiled in January 2009. It is an examination of nature, plant life and changing seasons, and has not enjoyed the success of MOMIX’s “Opus Cactus” (which I have seen, and rather liked) and MOMIX’s “Baseball” (which I have not seen, and would like to).

“Botanica” received withering notices when first performed—both reviews in The New York Times were notably cruel—and creator Moses Pendleton has since cut more than a quarter of the work. “Botanica”, once two hours in length, now comes in at ninety minutes—but one cannot help but notice, even for the truncated version of the work, that the words “pablum” and “shtick” keep cropping up in critical notices all over the country.

Pendleton’s work is sometimes cute and sometimes clever, but an entire evening of his work is not fulfilling. Pendleton’s work is rooted, not in modern dance, but in Vaudeville. Pendleton is a creator of illusionist skits in which costumes and props—and plots and gimmicks—are of far greater importance than dance. What Pendleton does is no different than the work of skit-writers from early television: the creation of jokey five-minute interludes. Seeing fifteen jokey five-minute interludes in succession quickly becomes tiresome.

Pendleton uses music in his work, but Pendleton’s use of music is mood-setting, like television background music, and not connected to dance. Pendleton most often uses New Age Music—and most of “Botanica” was performed to New Age Music (with nature sounds thrown in). The selections were gruesome.

Minneapolis has a very weird audience for dance. The local audience ate up “Botanica”. There were three well-sold and well-received performances. Local audiences, chilly to George Balanchine ballets, go wild for pig slop.

In another week, Pilobolus (Pendleton’s former company) will appear in Saint Paul.

I don’t think we can take a second Vaudeville presentation in such quick succession to the first.

The Cowles Center

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 21:19:00 +0000

The Cowles Center in downtown Minneapolis, used primarily by modern dance companies.

Despite the fact that The Cowles Center opened almost two years ago, we attended our very first performance there only last weekend.

Either we don’t get out much—or The Cowles Center has very poor programming.

I was the party responsible for our visit to The Cowles Center. Several years ago, I had seen MOMIX’s presentation of “Opus Cactus” and had largely enjoyed the experience. I managed to convince my parents, my sister-in-law and Joshua that they would find a MOMIX performance worthwhile.

I doubt any of them will ever again speak to me.

Callas And Schwarzkopf

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 20:28:00 +0000

Maria Callas and Elisabeth Schwarzkopf in Milan in July 1957.

The two sopranos were in Milan in July 1957 in order to record Puccini’s “Turandot” for EMI with the forces of Teatro alla Scala.

August 1972: Recording “Turandot” In Kingsway Hall

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 18:14:00 +0000

Nicolai Ghiaurov, Luciano Pavarotti, Montserrat Caballé and Joan Sutherland before the microphones in Kingsway Hall in August 1972, recording Puccini’s “Turandot” for Decca under the leadership of Zubin Mehta.

“Perfect For Erfurt”

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 17:09:00 +0000

Coincident with the first American release of his Deutsche Grammophon recording of Puccini’s “Turandot” in 1982, Herbert Von Karajan gave an interview to an American newspaper reporter.

The newspaper reporter wanted to spend the time discussing Placido Domingo’s performance of Calaf (the newspaper reporter must have been a big Domingo fan) and Karajan played along with the reporter for a while—until Karajan had had enough and stopped the reporter and announced that Barbara Hendricks (in the role of Liu) was the sole satisfactory singer that had participated in his “Turandot” recording.

That amusing anecdote aside, the telling part of the interview was Karajan’s pronouncement that “Turandot” was not a successful opera. According to Karajan, the first act of “Turandot” was as fine as anything Puccini wrote, but everything after Act I went steadily downhill. During the interview, Karajan revealed that he had become bored by the project after Act I of the recording had been completed—Karajan’s “Turandot” was recorded in sequence—and the great conductor went on to admit that Acts II and III of his recording might with justification be disregarded if not for the contribution of Hendricks.

I fully understand Karajan’s position. Act I of “Turandot” is through-composed (and beautifully so), and stands alone as a satisfying musical and dramatic entity. Acts II and III, on the other hand, feature a couple of nice set pieces, but the musical and dramatic arcs of the latter acts are problematic—if not outright failures.

Had Puccini been in good health the final two years of his life, or had Puccini lived longer, I suspect he would have substantially revised Acts II and III (the latter remained unfinished at the composer’s death). As it is, music-lovers tolerate “Turandot” because of a great Act I and because of a handful of beautiful arias elsewhere. Nothing else about the opera is worth enduring; no one attends a performance of “Turandot” expecting genuine drama or a satisfying theatrical experience.

During a career lasting six decades, Karajan never conducted “Turandot” in the theater. Aside from the Deutsche Grammophon recording sessions, Karajan never went near the score. (In the opera house, Karajan, probably the finest Puccini conductor who ever lived, seldom conducted Puccini operas. Karajan gave a handful of performances of “La Boheme”, “Tosca” and “Madama Butterfly”—and touched nothing else from Puccini’s pen.)

I suspect what attracted Karajan to the prospect of recording “Turandot” was Puccini’s glorious and exotic instrumentation, the composer’s masterful harmonic scheme, and the modernistic elements Puccini had borrowed from Strauss, Debussy and Bartók. No matter what one thinks of Karajan’s “Turandot” recording (and the recording may be criticized on grounds other than casting), Karajan’s orchestral presentation of the score is a marvel. The conductor’s orchestral wizardry is on full and resplendent display, and that alone puts Karajan’s “Turandot” in a higher class than all other “Turandot” recordings.

Minnesota Opera offered eight performances of “Turandot” this month. My parents, my sister-in-law, and Joshua and I caught last Saturday night’s performance, the seventh performance of the run—and it was the orchestral presentation of Puccini’s score that rendered the performance out-of-court.

Minnesota Opera uses what is in effect a pickup orchestra—and a pickup orchestra cannot begin to do justice to the score of “Turandot”. Opulence and radiance of sound were absent; balancing was odd; everything was played at a louder-than-necessary volume; and the level of ensemble was not what it should have been.

The conductor, Michael Christie, did not exhibit a commanding grasp of the score. There was a start-and-stop quality to the whole proceeding. Nothing flowed naturally. There was no sense of musical progression, no sense of a destination. Most Christie tempi were a nudge too fast. Rhythms were stiff. The conductor displayed lots of energy, but little understanding of the Puccini idiom, which requires unending tension and relaxation.

I was disappointed. For some reason, I had believed “Turandot” might be right up Christie’s alley—and it was not.

The singers could not always be heard, which mattered not at all to me, as they were not pleasing.

Turandot was sung by a Russian soprano who has lived in the U.S. for the last sixteen years and who sings at insignificant houses in North America, Latin America and Europe. I found her to be not much of a singer and not much of an actress. (“Perfect for Erfurt” was my father’s summation of her skill level.)

Calaf was sung by a young American heldentenor whose career is just beginning. As singer and as stage animal, he was extremely rough around the edges, even ungainly.

Liu was sung by a Minnesota native who is engaged by Minnesota Opera over and over. In possession of a garden-variety voice of limited color and beauty, she offered a touching physical portrayal of the only sympathetic character in “Turandot”. (Liu was a pure invention of Puccini—there is no Liu in any of the source material on which Puccini’s “Turandot” is based; Puccini instructed his librettists to write Liu into the story—and Liu is given the best music in the score. In creating Liu, Puccini knew exactly what he was doing.)

Minnesota Opera’s physical production of “Turandot” was a triumph. The stage décor and costuming were extravagant for a small regional company; they impressed on a pure visceral level. The stage direction was extremely detailed and extremely lucid. A newcomer to “Turandot” might have followed the action with ease, and had no need to consult surtitles.

“Turandot” is an opera that today cannot adequately be cast. Only a handful of living conductors can do justice to the score. Only a dozen ensembles, if that, are capable of playing the score at a high level.

Given the impossible demands of “Turandot”, an extravagant and detailed physical production is not nothing.

The Franco Alfano ending, as edited (i.e., shortened) by Arturo Toscanini, was used.

King’s College Chapel, Cambridge

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 16:51:00 +0000

King’s College Chapel, Cambridge, from Saint John’s College Chapel, in 1997.

“Wenn Etwas Zu Lang Ist—Mach Es Länger”

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 01:31:00 +0000

Eero Saarinen’s Dulles Airport Terminal in 1962, the year Dulles opened.

Saarinen’s Dulles Terminal is, I believe, the greatest of all Twentieth-Century buildings.

My father refers to Dulles as “The King’s College Chapel, Cambridge, of our day”—which is intended to be the highest praise. (My father is of the opinion that King’s College Chapel, Cambridge, is the greatest building on the planet. I offer no disagreement.)

Dulles gives me chills every time I see it. One of the great drives in all the world is a traversal of the Dulles Access Road, the winding route through the low hills of the Virginia countryside that ends at Dulles. For the final two miles of the drive, one gets glimpse after glimpse of Saarinen’s inspired structure from afar, from several different angles, as one approaches the airport—until at last one clears the final sweeping turn of the roadway, and for the first time encounters the great structure straight on. It is always a breathtaking moment, no matter how many times one has already experienced the drive.

Dulles has been extended, significantly, at both ends, subsequent to the completion of the original structure. The expanded Dulles is even more beautiful than the original—and bears out Saarinen’s maxim quoted in my header.

Minnesota Opera’s “Turandot”

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Sat, 20 Apr 2013 01:37:00 +0000

This weekend we shall hear Puccini’s “Turandot” at Minnesota Opera.

The Minnesota Opera “Turandot” is a new production, co-produced with Cincinnati Opera, Pittsburgh Opera, Seattle Opera and Utah Opera.

Although the physical production was constructed here in Minneapolis, Minneapolis does not have the honor of its first presentation. The production has already been seen elsewhere: Pittsburgh in 2011 and Seattle in 2012. Minneapolis will be the third city to see its very own production.

The production is scheduled for Salt Lake City in 2014 and Cincinnati in 2015.

A Chain Composer Objects To A Chain Restaurant

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 22:58:00 +0000

There is an exquisitely retro steakhouse [in Indianapolis] (retro in the sense of it having been around for 100 years) and a funny wine bar and a hipster cocktail boîte and all that, and then there are the cancerous and ubiquitous chains. There is something grotesque to me about there being this wonderful steakhouse St Elmó, and then just up the street the linguistically repellant chain steakhouse “Ruth’s Chris,” whatever that means, opens up shop. I feel like the people should take to the streets with pitchforks to protest that ****.

Nico Muhly, 9 February 2013

Apparently abject lack of originality in music composition is perfectly acceptable—rewriting someone else’s music, over and over, is to be admired if not celebrated—but every steakhouse on every corner in every city must be different from all others.

More Minutiae

noreply@blogger.com (Drew80) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 22:20:00 +0000

In January 1901, my maternal great-great-grandmother—who died long before my mother was born—extended a dinner invitation to Winston Churchill, who at the time was visiting Minneapolis while on a North American lecture tour.

Churchill did not respond to the invitation in a prompt manner, which angered my great-great-grandmother no end. An invitation from my great-great-grandmother was to be regarded as a summons.

Churchill’s faux pas caused a minor scandal in Minneapolis. Everyone thought Churchill, twenty-six years old at the time, to be a most rude young man, lacking the most basic of social graces.

The scandal made the local newspapers.

Winston Churchill, newly-elected Member of Parliament, in December 1900. The photograph was taken in Boston, at the beginning of Churchill’s first American lecture tour.