Mozart with André Gide

It's almost impossible to say that one time is more apt for another for listening to Mozart. But he may be especially welcome in times of uncertainty, such is the clarity of his music. In his operas, of course, his compassion for and insight into the human condition is on full display. In this week of his birthday, though, I've been listening to K. 537. I was led to it by André Gide, whose journals I've been reading. In the summer of 1940, he found himself possessed by "constant, latent sadness," but never slowed his intellectual or emotional engagement with the world around him. And in listening to Mozart, Gide wrote this:

J'ai le coeur tout remis en place et regonflé par l'admirable Concerto en ré majeur de Mozart admirablement interprété par Wanda Landowska, dont la radio vient de me permettre d'entendre l'enregistrement. Force et bonté, grâce, esprit et tendresse, rien ne manque à cette oeuvre (que je reconnais note à note), non plus qu'au jeu parfait de l'artiste, qu'un de mes regrets sera de n'avoir pas plus souvent entendue."

Adoring the Anti-Diva: Christa Ludwig

Today is the birthday of my very favorite mezzo ever, Christa Ludwig! This provides an excellent excuse for me to gush, so brace yourselves, Gentle Readers.  I've been an admirer of hers since first listen, which was to her Brangäne for the 1966 Böhm Tristan.  I will always imagine "Habet Acht!" in her voice.  The fact that Ludwig's Brangäne is so emotionally as well as vocally rich contributes no small part to the recording's success, for me.  (She recorded the role again under Karajan.)  So much for the grounds of initial respect.  But it was her Leonore which made me fall in love.

Plácido Domingo: ad multos annos

I suspect that Plácido Domingo himself is one of very few people in the world who can keep track of his prodigious and prodigiously varied achievements. As the opera world dons party hats, figuratively speaking, for his seventieth birthday on Friday (I rather hope that literal party hats might be involved somewhere; there was at least a surprise party) I thought this would provide a good excuse for the post I've long felt I've owed him, anyway.  Plácido Domingo was one of the first figures in the world of opera I came to know: he's been Virgil to my Dante for much of the core operatic repertoire, and is primus inter pares among my Honorary Operatic Uncles. So, I'm putting on my own figurative party hat.

And now, on with the opera...

Let joy be un-confined!  Let there be dancing in the streets, drinking in the saloons, and necking in the parlor!  I decided it was high time I saw the Marx Brothers' "A Night at the Opera."  I have to say I prefer Chaplin's comedy to that of the famous trio, but I tried to give it an open-minded go.  There is of course the famous stateroom scene, but more interesting is to me is this one, where impossible capers of all kinds are introduced into a performance of "Trovatore," unsettling the well-heeled audience and the musicians alike.  I must confess, though, that I never really settled into enjoying this example of the genre of slapstick comedy/MGM musical.  Probably this says more about me than the film; I was unable to switch off whatever trained listening had me reacting to the introduction of operatic fragments as though they were supposed to illustrate the plot.  No: a fragment of "Vesti la giubba" is sung in high spirits (!) and the "Miserere" from Trovatore, after apparently concluding the opera (!) was encored as a triumphant love duet at the end.  That was painful.  Also, important and persistent questions--the nature of 'high' and 'low' culture/art, the relation of profit to the creation of opera, reputation to talent in the forging of careers--kept being introduced into the plot and then just left there to be dealt with by means of, well, slapstick comedy.

The second installment in my exploration of "opera in film" was much more successful: Fellini's "E la nave va."  Now, this, I loved!  Not only does it include musical extracts in an illustrative way, it sometimes gives them alternate texts (unfortunately for my inadequate Italian, they weren't subtitled, but I still found it fascinating.)  The "normal" proceedings of the film often erupt into choruses at significant moments.  And not only opera, but dreamy piano pieces, lively folk music, and even complex water-glass playing (!) contribute to the aural landscape of the film.  Extravagant and enigmatic characters inhabit the artificial, luxurious, threatened environment of a cruise ship, bound in 1914 to scatter the ashes of a diva off a Greek island.  Moral and immoral decisions are made.  Love blossoms and love is betrayed.  And it's all gorgeous, and a great deal of fun, as well as poignant.