It might as well be spring

Obsessive that I am, I am a person of ritual. Perhaps it was being brought up Catholic. There are certain things in my life that happen on a regular basis and if they were gone, I'm not sure how I would function.

I have little rituals with music. No November would be right if I didn't start to play through my collection of Handel's Messiah (yes I know it is a Lenten piece, but like most of the rest of the world, I listen to it a Christmas). Holy Week means the Matthew Passion. Sometime deep in January or February I have to listen to Winterreise.

Although we don't actually have seasons here in Florida, spring means it's time for Die schöne Müllerin. There is nothing specifically about spring in the text, but the nature references and "green" imagery, make me feel like spring. The constant flowing of the brook says renewal and hope.

To my ear, only a tenor sounds right in this music. A baritone (except perhaps a young Fischer-Dieskau) sounds too heavy. My favorite interpreter is probably Aksel Schiotz. His bright and beautiful voice illuminates the text, but in an understated way. No overbearing underlining in this interpretation, but an allowance that the music can essentially speak for itself, as long as the singer is sensitive to it.

Oh, yes, and Gerald Moore is pretty good too.

Kitty Carlisle Hart

Kitty Carlisle Hart died yesterday at the age of 96. If you spent any time in New York, you'd know who she was. She was ubiquitous as an advocate and passionate defender of the arts. Oh, yes, she was an actress, spouse of one of the great figures in American theater: author and director Moss Hart, singer, and delightful panelist on "What's My Line." She was in "A Night at the Opera" with the Marx Brothers and made a Met debut as Prince Orlofsky. She dated George Gershwin and was performing up until she became ill in December.

She was a great presence which will be missed.

Courtesy of ArtsJournal, here is nice tribute by Stephen Holden.

Extortion?

I rarely talk about topics that are related to me job here, but this discussion on Opera-L caught my eye.

In the best of all possible works, opera would be self-sustaining and the price you pay for your tickets would cover the cost of what is going on onstage and no additional subsidy would be necessary. Unfortunately that is not, nor ever has been the case. In the U.S. the arts depend on private support, through corporations, foundations, or individuals to help cover the costs over and above the revenue that ticket sales generate. In most opera companies that is around 65% of the actual cost of putting on a performance. If the ticket price truly reflected the cost to create opera (on almost every level) it would affordable only to the very rich.

To induce private donation, incentives are offered. Often it is passes to dress rehearsal, magazines, the ability to socialize with the artists, and things of that sort. But one of the things that an opera goer most values, is their seat.

So opera companies for years, have rewarded their best donors, with premium seats. Sometimes it was explicitly stated, sometimes just understood. For those companies who very clearly tie a seating assignment with a donation requirement, it is just economic reality. In other words, it makes a ticket affordable for everyone who can't afford to give that level of donation.

I wish it were not so, but that's the reality when you live in a free-market economy and makes opera available to more people.

Memories...

I recently got into a debate with an online friend about the merits of a no longer active tenor. My friend off-handedly remarked that his career was indefensible and couldn't understand why he was ubiquitous on opera stages for so many years.

I, on the other hand, remember seeing some performances during my early opera-going days by this tenor that were quite remarkable. I resolutely maintain that the promise of those early hearings justified his prominence, even if that promise quickly faded.

The problem is that for my argument I was relying on the memory of performances that I heard nearly 30 years ago, while I was in my teens. Doubts began to cross my mind. Was my taste developed enough at that point to adequately evaluate? Were the performances that I recall so vividly really that good, or perhaps the passing of time has improved them in my mind?

Well with great trepidation (lest my teenage memories be exploded) I obtained a pirate recording of one of those performances. And I'm happy to say that the performance was as fabulous as I remembered. The tenor was in spectacular voice: a true heroic sound, with ringing high notes, and superior musicality (for a tenor).

Whew! So I'm not crazy.

Tributes

It struck me the other day that some of the artists that I most treasure, died prematurely. Before my time of course (I was four when he died), I have wondered open-mouthed at the indescribable beauty of the singing of Fritz Wunderlich and have always been sad both at his early death and at my inability to hear him live. The fairly recent documentary Fritz Wunderlich, Life and Legend, apart from some cheesy reenactments, captures his story interestingly. It also contains some wonderful live footage, which captures his very special art. Very worth seeing.

I talked about the wonderful Lorraine Hunt Lieberson a few days ago. I listened to the Neruda Songs recently. I don't have words to adequately describe the effect they had on me. I think I'll need time to divorce my objective reaction to the music from the sense of loss at losing her so early.

Terry Teachout, who helped introduce me to Nancy LaMott, writes movingly about her Live at Tavern on the Green album. I missed that last run, but saw her live enough times (once at Tavern on the Green) to appreciate his reactions. She was a dynamic stage performer, part commedienne, part tragedienne, all moving. Her voice throbbed with emotion and she brought just about every song that I heard her sing to life in a way that I despair of hearing again. She was a complete performer and one who seemed to let us into the depth of her soul, even if it was just an hour.