The 2-minute Orphée

Is it wrong to poke fun at a great opera?  Well, if that's wrong, I don't wanna be right!  It's time wreak havoc on Philip Glass's Orphée.


CAST OF CHARACTERS
Orphée, a poet who's a little past it.
Poet, another poet, which makes sense, considering his name.  Logical career path.  It'd be different if his name was "Pizza chef".
Cegeste, an up-and-coming poet, making this the only 3-poet opera in the repertoire.  Woo-hoo!
Eurydice, Orphée's wife.  She's preggers; got a poet in the oven, which means we very nearly had a quadruple-poet opera goin' on here.  Shucks - one more scene would've done it!
Princess, a.k.a. Death Itself.  And a real stunner with great legs.
Rod Serling, doing one of his inimitably creepy voice-overs.
Sam Waterston, appearing in his signature role as D.A. Jack McCoy.

Scene 1: a cafe in Paris. Orphée is sitting with Poet. Princess, a.k.a. Death Itself, is helping a very drunk Cegeste across the street.


PRINCESS
This is what I hate about poets: half a beer and you're bombed.

CEGESTE
You weel not spick to moi like zees or I weel KEEL you, Nescafe?

PRINCESS
First of all, you can't kill Death, moron.  Second, I think you mean "n'est ces pas", not "Nescafe".  Oh, and also: dude, that's the worst French accent I've ever heard in my life - er, death.  What're you, a Pink Panther reject?

CEGESTE
Oh, lay off.  I'm from Baltimore originally, and I just got hired for this role.  I'm doing the best I can under very trying circumstances, cut me some slack.

PRINCESS
Whatever.  (Suddenly two motorcycles appear out of nowhere and run down Cegeste in the street.  He's extremely dead.)


CEGESTE
Hey!  I was told this was a principal role!  I'm dead after three lines?  What the heck??

PRINCESS (to Orphée, who's standing around not writing poetry and feeling a little sorry for himself.)
YO!  Rhyme-boy!  Yes, you!  Get your Orphic butt over here and help me with the dead dude.

ORPHÉE

Why would I want to do that?  I have no idea who you are, who he is, or what's happening.

PRINCESS
Your name is Orphée.  The title of the show is Orphée.  Work with me here.

ORPHÉE

Fine.  Hey, you know what they could have called this opera?  "Dead Poet's Society".  Like the movie, right?  HA HA HA HA HA HA!!

PRINCESS
You're a riot.  Shut up.

Scene 2: an eerie chalet out in the middle of nowhere.  Princess, Orphée and "Dead Cegeste", who's beginning to smell a little ripe, are standing around.  Well, not Cegeste - he's on the floor like a proper corpse.


ROD SERLING
A has-been poet and a babe with a shroud and a scythe, on a long limousine journey into....  "The Twilight Zone"  (That "Twilight Zone" music, - you know, that "doo-doo-doo-doo" thing you do when something weird happens - starts cranking out from somewhere.)


PRINCESS
This is an opera, not a freaking TV show - cut the music!!

ROD SERLING
Sorry.

ORPHÉE

Can we get on with it, please?  It's already scene two and I haven't sung an aria yet.

ROD SERLING
Aria?! Have you had a chance to look through the music?  You don't actually have an aria in this opera.  There aren't any arias.  Just, you know, dialogue.

ORPHÉE

Are you freaking kidding me?  No arias?  Well, CRAP.  You know, I turned down a production of Faust to be in this show.  Geez, this is gonna be a longgggg evening.

PRINCESS
Cheer up - some of the special effects are cool; dig this.  YO, Cegeste, ARISE!  (Cegeste stands up and looks around.)


CEGESTE
Yay!  More lines!

ORPHÉE

How long til the special effect?

PRINCESS
That was it.  C'mon, that was cool! I brought a dead guy back to life.

ORPHÉE

Yeah, he stood up.  Breath-taking.  Again, this'll be a long night.  Anyway, he's alive, huh?

PRINCESS
No, not really.  He's still dead as a doornail.  Just, you know, standing up and talking.  A talking dead guy.

ORPHÉE

Ooo, like in Twilight?  Is this a vampire opera?  Can I be Edward?

PRINCESS
Wrong movie.  I'd love to stick around and talk, but I've got to deliver this puppy to Hell.  Ciao.

Scene 3: Orphée's house.  He and his lovely wife Eurydice are sittin' around.

ORPHÉE
Cupcake?

EURYDICE
Yes, Sugar-lips?

ORPHÉE
How do you pronounce your name, anyway?  Is it "You-RID-i-see", or "Yurr-i-DEE-chay" or
"Yurr-i-DEESE", or what?

EURYDICE
Let's just go with "Cupcake".

ORPHÉE
Cool.

EURYDICE
Is this where we sing a love duet?

ORPHÉE
Meh.  Maybe later.

EURYDICE
Pfft.  (Suddenly, she dies, then stands up, talks to the Princess, walks through a mirror and goes straight to Hades.)

ORPHÉE
Oy - such a DAY I'm having!  But that special effect is starting to grow on me, I have to admit.  Dead person standing up... creepy!

PRINCESS
Told you.

Scene 4.  Hades.  The Next World.  The Hereafter.  Limbo.  Kind of like the Greyhound station in Richmond, Virginia if you've ever been stuck there waiting for a bus.

JUDGE
We will now hear testimony from the first witness.  Princess, you're up.

SAM WATERSTON, APPEARING AS JACK McCOY.
Objection, your Honor!

JUDGE
Say what?  What do you think you're doing here?

SAM WATERSTON, APPEARING AS JACK McCOY.
My show got cancelled and I've got a little free time.  This seems to be some kind of trial or something and I could use the gig.  Who are we prosecuting?

JUDGE
Scram.

Scene 5.  Still "down there".  The cast is waiting for the Judge to tell the verdict.

EURYDICE (to Orphée)
We've got a few minutes.  Any chance you wanna work in a love duet about now?

ORPHÉE
I've got a headache.  And I'm busy.  See you.

EURYDICE
Where are you going, my heart's desire, my own true love, my dearest dear?

ORPHÉE
Going to suck face with the Princess.  Have you seen her?  She's totally HOT!  I mean, you know, for being Death Itself...

EURYDICE
If we make it back to the living world, you are so sleeping on the couch.  What a tool.

(Next-to-last scene.  Yeah, we skipped a few scenes - it was running a bit long.  Anyway, we're back at Orphée's house.  He's already broken the Big Rule about "not looking at Eurydice" and thus sent her packing back to the Richmond Greyhound station.  You know, Hell.)

ORPHÉE
OMG!  That angry crowd outside, convinced that I killed Cegeste, just shot me!  I'm dead!!  (He falls to the floor, then stands up.)  Okay, I've changed my mind: this is a totally SICK special effect!  It's, like, RAD, dude!  I just creeped myself out!!  Look:  I stood up!!  Whoaaaa!

(Last scene.  Hell, etc.)

PRINCESS (to Orphée)
Come here, you big hunk of dead human, you!  Give Mama a big ol' kiss!

ORPHÉE
Although I'm really hot for you, Death Itself, I am a little concerned about this attraction.  You reckon I can find a Necrophilia support group here in Hades?

PRINCESS
Totes.  After all, we're all dead down here.  It's a common problem.  But I've got tough news:  it's over.  We're breaking up - I'm sending you back to your wife Yurr-i-DEESE in the living world.

ORPHÉE
So THAT'S how you say it!!! 

THE END.

Glenn Winters' new book The Opera Zoo: Singers, Composers and Other Primates is now available from Kendall Hunt Publishing and only available by direct ordering from the publisher.  Go to kendallhunt.com and enter "The Opera Zoo" in the search bar.

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT!

We interrupt our regularly scheduled blog for an IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!  (You can tell it's very important because I just used bold-face, italics and all caps; THAT'S how important it is...)

My book, THE OPERA ZOO: SINGERS, COMPOSERS AND OTHER PRIMATES, is now available for sale from Kendall Hunt Publishing.  I'm an author, my opera-loving peeps!

Do not look for this little volume in your local Barnes & Noble or other neighborhood bookstore.  I am not John Grisham, and bookstores across the nation will not be flooded with copies of The Opera Zoo.  Getting a book published, as I've learned, is all about platform.  Grisham and his best-selling ilk have global platforms.  They come in all sizes, and mine is regional-ish. 

This means that if you'd like a copy, you must order direct from the publisher, which you can do by clicking on this link, which will take you to my page on the Kendall Hunt catalogue.  The cost is $30.00.

For those of you who are new to my blog, The Opera Zoo is based on earlier blog posts which are now only available in book form.  The content for two-thirds of the book is similar to this season's posts; namely, a collection of ironic essays spoofing the opera world in what I've been told is a Garrison Keillor-type tone with a little Woody Allen mixed in for good measure.  Opera parodies, opera analyses: you get the idea.

In addition, you'll find a journal I kept while a guest artist at the 2010 Operafestival di Roma in Italy, where I participated in a festival production of Strauss's Die Fledermaus, writing about the process of staging a production, as well as my impressions of the people, sights and (most importantly) food in one of the world's great cities.

We missed our original deadline of a Christmas release, but all's well that ends well.  Please consider ordering a copy for yourself or an opera-loving friend.

And in just a couple of days we'll return to our normal postings, including this Sunday's libretto parody of Philip Glass's Orphée.

Of water drops, climaxes and elephants: Orphée

Thoughts and reflections after having seen a staged performance of Philip Glass's opera Orphée:

I. WATER DROPS
Some composers' music - a Mahler symphony, say, or Beethoven's Ninth or Wagner's Ring des Nibelungen - is so vast and immense, with such a profusion of ideas and materials, that listening to it is like looking at the heavens through a telescope or like going on an epic journey.  One has the impression of seeing the universe.  With the music of Glass, in contrast, it's more like looking at a single drop of water under a microscope.  The limitation of materials, with the application of nuanced changes in rhythm or pitch, is like focusing on the abundance of life, invisible to the naked eye, contained in a tiny drop.

II.  THE NATURE OF MUSICAL DRAMA
There is a paradox at work in Orphée:  the music is simultaneously undramatic and yet extremely dramatic. Glass's score points out how addicted Western music-lovers have become to the phenomenon of the musical climax.  In the works of Mozart, Rossini, Verdi, Bizet, Wagner, Puccini - all your operatic buddies - musical numbers depend on creating growing tension culminating in a powerful climax and followed by the subsiding of energy.  It's like listening to someone who really needs to sneeze but is having trouble producing one:  "a... a... a... a... A... A... A... A...  A.... A.......   CHOOOOOOOOOO!!!  *sighhhhhhh*"
Think of the unbearable tension built up in the long Act I love duet in Madama Butterfly; the ensuing mutual high notes accompanied with satisfyingly over-the-top cymbal crashes, and the slow denouement as the curtain falls.

To say nothing of the Liebesnacht and Liebestod in Wagner's Tristan und Isolde.


The fact is that virtually all Western music is predicated on this principle.  Not only arias and ensembles in operas, but individual phrases in piano sonatas, symphonies, chamber music, art song: every musical thought is oriented towards tension/climax/release.

And we're addicted to it.  Those climaxes produce a powerful "high" as much as any drug.  Composers know it and are pleased to keep feeding our habit.  Verdi and Puccini?  They're like the neighborhood pushers.

And then there's Philip Glass.  His mind doesn't work that way.  Each scene in Orphée is erected over a base of a musical idea - a pattern, a melodic fragment or a chord progression - that captures the essential emotional affect of that scene.  For example, the lively ambiance of the cafe in scene 1; the mystery and monotony of the long limousine ride in scene 2; the eeriness of the chalet in scene three; the agitation in Orphée's household in scene 4; and so on.  Each musical idea is pitch-perfect in nailing the appropriate atmosphere which, given Glass's distinguished career as a film composer, shouldn't surprise us.  That's pretty much the job description when composing a film score.

However, in each scene, that tension/climax/release paradigm so beloved of Western musicians is notably absent.  The music trundles along, repeating the chosen pattern, until the scene ends, often as abruptly as if lifting a needle off a phonograph record.  (You do remember phonograph records, right?  No?  Oh, never mind...)

A good example is observed in the love duet for Orphée and the Princess in Act II, scene iii.  A deceptively simple chord progression of F major, A minor, B flat major and D flat major is repeated dozens of times over the course of nearly five minutes.  The vocal phrases over these repetitions are sensuous, languid and extremely French.  No Italian-style volcanic passion; no over-the-top histrionics.
Phrases follow one another in sonic waves; waves of blissful amorous ecstasy.  These waves wash over the listener, bathing one in sonority rather than inducing the "buzz" of musical titillation.

It works.

And therein lies the secret to a different kind of opera.  Remember, this work is adapted from a cinematic masterpiece, Cocteau's film of the same name.  The screenplay is brilliant.  The effect of Glass's minimalist musical treatment is to allow the drama to be the center of attention; the music, in effect, gets out of the way of the drama.  It supports the drama by evincing the proper emotional atmosphere in each scene.  What the music does not do is call attention to itself with musical gestures that overwhelm the libretto and dominate the audience's attention.

When Orphée enters the Princess's chalet with the battered corpse of the young poet Cegeste, he mumbles "I must be asleep" in his confusion.  Any conventional operatic composer would have siezed this moment to insert a full-length aria in which Orphée muses lyrically on his feelings of foreboding and whether he is dreaming or awake.  And maybe throw in a little romantic speculation on that super-hot babe, the Princess, ending (of course) with a climactic high C.  Glass, however, has no interest in stealing the spotlight from Cocteau to indulge in that sort of interruption.  Rather, he follows the screenplay exactly:  Orphée murmurs his line, the Princess utters a curt response, and the drama continues with no loss of momentum.  The dramatic tension is enhanced, even if conventional musical tension is sacrificed.  Trust me, you won't miss it.

This is wonderful.  This is a vital and effective version of "music drama". This just may be the closest we've seen to a modern-day realization of the ideals of the Florentine Camerata, those 16th-century artists who, in attempting to re-create ancient Greek drama, invented opera instead.

III. A word to all of you who think you hate the music of Philip Glass.
Aw, what's the matter, Pookie?  Did you hear something you didn't like?  A bit of minimalist fodder so loud and aggressive you found it obnoxious, like nails on a blackboard?  Glass, especially in works from the 1960's, can be like that.  There are moments in Einstein on the Beach that can set your teeth on edge.  And scroll down through this blog a few weeks to read how Satyagraha almost caused a divorce in my household.

But Glass isn't like Handel or Beethoven; you can't get an idea of his body of work from a couple of examples.  Listen to the Water Music; you have a good grasp of what Handel sounds like.  Likewise, the Eroica Symphony is a fine exemplar of what makes Beethoven sound like Beethoven.

In contrast, Philip Glass reminds me of the story of the three blind men who came across an elephant one day.

The first blind man grasped the elephant's tusk and exclaimed, "An elephant is like a skeleton, made entirely of bone!"

The second blind man felt the animal's tail and remarked "An elephant is a small, skinny hairy thing!"

The third blind man wrapped his arms around one of the elephant's legs and said "An elephant is like the trunk of a mighty oak tree!"

As with elephants, so with the music of Philip Glass:  if you only know one part, you know nothing.  Ignore the works you find offensive; don't hold them against him.  You're only depriving yourself of the opportunity to discover the riches that await you.

The 2012 presidential candidates debate -- opera!

GLENN WINTERS
Good evening, America.  Tonight I am proud to host and moderate an historic event which will be televised and, um, radioized all over the nation: a debate among the contenders for the Presidency of these United States of America.  In a departure from tradition, we are joined not only by the field of Republican candidates, but also by the Democratic incumbent, President Barack Obama.  Oh, one other thing: we're also including the GOP figures who have actually withdrawn from the race, namely Donald Trump, Representative Michelle Bachmann, Mr. Herman Cain, Governor Jon Huntsman, Governor Rick Perry and Representative Ron Paul.


RON PAUL
Uh, Glenn?  Mr. Winters?


GLENN WINTERS
Yes, Mr. Paul?


RON PAUL
I haven't withdrawn.  I'm still running.


MITT ROMNEY
*snicker*  Yes, technically, that's true.


GLENN WINTERS
Now, now, Gov. Romney; let's not have any of that.  I want a good, clean, respectful debate.


MITT ROMNEY
Sorry.


GLENN WINTERS
At any rate, let me introduce the rest of the debate panel joining me here at the Hardee's on Jefferson Avenue here in Newport News, Virginia:  Governor Mitt Romney, former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich, and Senator Rick Santorum.  Welcome, everyone!  Now as you know, tonight's focus will not be on foreign affairs, the economy, immigration reform, abortion, or homeland security.  We've all heard you blather on and on about all that crud.  No, tonight you will be asked your views on a subject crucial to America's future and of vital interest to Red States and Blue States alike:  your knowledge of opera.  I will ask each of you to make an opening statement in which you name your own personal favorite opera.  Mr. President, let's begin with you.


BARACK OBAMA
Glenn, thanks very much for the opportunity to be with you on this historic evening.  I think my choice is Beethoven's Fidelio.  It's an inspiring story of a struggle for liberty by a valiant man and his devoted wife.  It reminds me of my own fight in protecting freedom and liberty all over the globe, and I think my wife Michelle would look really hot disguised as a man if I needed her to do that.  Oh - and if I may, let me also mention Wagner's Parsifal.  The miraculous curing of Amfortas' suffering and pain is a great model for the kind affordable health care I want for all Americans.


DONALD TRUMP
With due respects, Mr. President, I think a better choice for you would be Mussorgsky's Boris Godunov: the story of a man who ascends to power under false pretenses--I still think there's something fishy about that "birth certificate" of yours.


GLENN WINTERS
Whoa, whoa, Mr. Trump; let's not revisit all that birther nonsense.  Governor Romney, what's your choice?


MITT ROMNEY
As you know, Glenn, I've been a very successful businessman and I've helped many companies streamline their operations through greater efficiency.  That's what I find appealing about Schoenberg's Erwartung:  it's in one act, and has a cast of just one performer.  That's an efficient operation there; no expensive chorus or supporting characters, and you save on scenery to boot.  I would think that, in combination with raising ticket prices, any opera company would find it very profitable to perform nothing but Erwartung all season long.  And the Germans are well-known for appealing melodies; I'm sure Erwartung is chock-full of wonderful tunes.


GLENN WINTERS
Uh huh.  Right.  Moving right along, how about you, Governor Perry?


RICK PERRY
I kinda like that there Turandot by that Puccini feller.  I especially like those funny guys that sing the trio in Act II, those three ministers Ping, Pang and... uh... lemme see here, er, ...Ping, Pang.... and...  and....   shoot.  I don't know.  Can't think of it.  Oops.


GLENN WINTERS
Representative Bachmann, you're next.


MICHELLE BACHMANN
Thanks, Glenn.  I do have a real favorite opera; it's Benjamin Britten's poignant romance Peter Grimes.


GLENN WINTERS
...uh, "poignant romance"?  I don't understand.


MICHELLE BACHMANN
It's inspiring to me how the character of Ellen Orford, a fine Christian woman, reaches out to a misfit outcast like Grimes and clearly has the goal of marrying him and helping him lead a normal life.  Yes, Fate intervenes to prevent their blessed union, but I really empathize with Ellen.  I'm sure Mr. Britten was a wonderful husband to some lucky woman.


GLENN WINTERS
Benjamin Britten was gay.


MICHELLE BACHMANN
What?  Are you sure?


GLENN WINTERS
Oh, yes.


MICHELLE BACHMANN
I have to leave.  Good night.


GLENN WINTERS
Mr. Gingrich, we'll hear from you next.


NEWT GINGRICH
I have a lot of respect for Count Almaviva, the misunderstood hero of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro.  Here's a guy I can relate to; he's married to the Countess, but she's getting older and frankly, she's just not young enough or pretty enough to be a Count's wife.  He deserves to be with a real looker like that Susanna girl.  And I also like how when he was caught in an adulterous situation - which was a total set-up by the way, absolute entrapment on his wife's part - he admitted his weakness and went on being a fabulous, intellectual leader.  Like me.


GLENN WINTERS
Senator Santorum, let's hear your choice.


RICK SANTORUM
I have a Verdi opera I like a lot; it's his masterpiece I Lombardi alla Prima Crociata.


GLENN WINTERS
...because...


RICK SANTORUM
It's all about the Crusades, a subject near and dear to me.  The Crusades?  They're just my favorite war, that's all.  All these bleeding hearts who feel sorry for the godless Muslims down there in our Holy Land; well BOO HOO HOO.  I mean, what are we supposed to do, root against Christians?  Everyone knows Christians have the best religion.  And just as Verdi told his story to inspire Italians to fight against Austrian domination, I think if Americans studied I Lombardi we'd all understand we have to do the same against our foes.


GLENN WINTERS
Herman Cain, may we have your choice, please?


HERMANN CAIN
You'd think I'd pick some Italian opera since it's, you know, the home of pizza and everything, but I really go for Franz Lehar's operetta The Merry Widow.  For one thing, I wouldn't mind spending a little quality time with a beautiful widow, --you know, offer her financial assistance if she needed it and so on.  But what I really like is that solo Hannah sings about marriage where she sings in German, "Nein, nein, nein!"  It's remarkable how that gal anticipated my economic recovery plan over a century ago.  I'd like to remind you all of the details about this "999" formula of mine; it's based on...


GLENN WINTERS (interrupting)
No, thanks Mr. Cain, I think we've all heard about that.  Representative Ron Paul, I think it's your turn.


RON PAUL
Glenn, I've been quoted as saying that the notion of a rigid separation between church and state has no basis in either the text of the Constitution or the writings of our Founding Fathers.  On the contrary, our Founders' political views were strongly informed by their religious beliefs.  That's why the opera I enjoy is Verdi's Don Carlo, with its inspiring hero, the Grand Inquisitor.

GLENN WINTERS
Did you say "hero", Mr. Paul?  The Inquisitor is a ruthless tyrant.


RON PAUL
On the contrary, he leads the effort to make sure that government and the Church work together as a team to provide for the common good.


GLENN WINTERS
But... but... what about burning dissidents at the stake?


RON PAUL
War is hell, and that goes double for wars to prevent the silly separation of church and state.


GLENN WINTERS
Only two more candidates to hear from.  Governor Huntsman, which opera is on your mind?


JON HUNTSMAN
As you know, I've received a lot of flak from my fellow Republicans for having served in the Obama administration in the diplomatic corps.  Everyone gives me a hard time for teaming up with the enemy, so to speak.

BARACK OBAMA
HEY!

JON HUNTSMAN
No offence, Mr. President.  Anyway, this situation is somewhat reflected in Gounod's Faust.  I mean, look at Faust; he's a good man confronted with a situation in which he has the opportunity to team up with Mephistopheles, an individual with whom he has significant disagreements over policy and general world-view.  But he's not afraid to work with him to achieve his goals.

BARACK OBAMA
I'm the devil now?!

GLENN WINTERS
He did say it was nothing personal, Mr. Prez.  Chill.  Gov. Huntsman, your interpretation of Faust is a little shaky, but frankly, we're running short on time and I still need to poll The Donald.  Go, Mr. Trump!

DONALD TRUMP
Glenn, in the near future I'm going to make an announcement that will stun the world operatically speaking.  I am putting together plans to create the greatest opera the world has ever seen.  I'm talking with a fabulous composer, absolutely fabulous, and he's going to provide the best opera music available. Totally first-class.  This opera is going to break all records for popularity, greatness, and importance.  People are going to line up for miles to get tickets to see this work; the costumes, scenery, orchestra and conductor are all going to be incredible and impressive.  The recordings and DVD's of my opera will break all records and go platinum in a matter of seconds.  It's going to be...

GLENN WINTERS
Don?  Donald?

DONALD TRUMP
Yeah?

GLENN WINTERS
Stop talking.  Thanks.  Sounds swell.  Well, unfortunately we don't have time for rebuttals, but I think with what they've heard tonight my fellow citizens have some great information to think about when they step into those voting booths in November.

HERMANN CAIN
So they can still vote for me?  Is that what you're saying?

GLENN WINTERS
Nein.

How Philip Glass saved my marriage

I'm familiar with three of Philip Glass's operas: Akhnaten, which I once accompanied at the piano for a concert performance in Richmond, VA; Satyagraha, which I recently caught in the live Met Hi-Def transmission at a movie theater; and Orphée, which is the upcoming production of Virginia Opera.


Of the three, I much prefer Orphée and am grateful that the suits who oversee artistic matters in Norfolk made that choice.


You see, I'm pretty sure that a production of
Satyagraha could have ended my marriage of 35 years.  One performance almost did the trick.


What I find appealing in Orphée is that it has a plot, dialogue in a language that can be understood, interesting characters, and vocal lines that signify a basic understanding of how to write for the human voice.


Those are all helpful things in an opera...


I wanted to like Satyagraha, I really did.  I had read a good bit about the piece and listened to a few audio excerpts.  I'm not so tradition-bound that I insist all operas must have love duets, vengeful murder plots, tearful twenty-minute death scenes with multiple farewells to stuff and an illegitimate baby or two.


Heck, Orphée even coughs up a decent love duet.


The point is that my wife Ruth and I motored up to Richmond to see Satyagraha fully prepared to appreciate it for whatever it was and not condemn it for what it wasn't.  We chose Richmond so we could see it in the comfort of one of those CineBistro joints where patrons watch films in comfortable chairs while noshing on $13.00 sandwiches.


The burger was really scrumptious - almost worth the price - and the production was colorful and engagingly performed.  It was cool to see the composer interviewed by the broadcast host, bass Eric Owens.  (Blog digression:  my daughter Kathleen Winters once played in an orchestra seated next to Mr. Owens, who recently has gotten rave notices for his incarnation of Alberich in the Met's Robert LePage-directed Ring cycle.  This happened at the Aspen Music Festival, where my daughter was a flute student and Owens was a conducting fellow.  At Aspen, playing an orchestral instrument is a pre-requisite for being named a conducting fellow, and as it happens the guy has real chops on the oboe.  So he and Kathleen wound up seated in adjacent chairs for a reading ensemble - that's an orchestra gathered for the purpose of reading through orchestral works for the benefit of aspiring maestros.  That concludes this digression; you may now return to your regular blog, with enhanced respect for Eric Owens.)


Anyway, the repetitive nature of the musical episodes and the lack of traditional "Then What Happened?" narrative did not faze me.  I've read books on meditation; I know about Glass's interest in Eastern thought and spirituality; I get it.  I'm familiar with the phenomenon of some audience members experiencing a form of ecstasy as a result of the percieved sublimity of Glass's transcendental passages flowing over and over them like sonic waves.  And in music like that, it's not vitally important that the language being sung is Sanskrit; it's not like they're telling jokes up there and we're going to miss the punchlines.


I totes get all that.


As the final credits scrolled down the screen while the Lincoln Center audience cheered and the CineBistro audience began shuffling to its feet in bemused silence, Ruth and I debated whether to stop for a coffee at Starbucks.  Steaming cups soon in hand, we made our way to the car and began the 70-odd mile drive back to Newport News.  (It's a really nice movie theater, people.)


That's when the trouble began.


Listen, after thirty-five years of marriage, the pressure of being a perfect date for one's lady-love or beau isn't as big a deal as it once was.  Companionable silence is a valid option to witty, seductive banter, know what I mean?  But there's no denying that both my wife and I were "in a mood".


First, there was the issue of finding our way back to Interstate 64.  We'd never been to this theater before and had relied on Dolores (that's the name we've assigned to the female-ish voice on my Android Navigation App) to find the place.  Now homeward-bound, there were testy discussions of whether I could re-trace our route without Dolores, a somewhat resentful agreement that I would turn on the Navigation again, and no small degree of impatience waiting for the damn phone to boot up and Dolores to pipe up.


While my memory isn't exact, the following is an approximation of the type of conversation that took place.


"Can't you find the address?"


"Yes, for Pete's sake, give me a minute!"


"Well why is it taking so long?"


"Oh good Lord, it has to find a signal and get our location.  HANG ON!"


"Just stop and ask somebody.  Roll down your window and ask those people over there!!"


"NO!  The phone will work faster than chasing strangers through a mall!"


"We're never going to get out of here!!!!"


It got even stupider than that, before Dolores cheerily started barking out directions and forced us to retreat into sulky, bitter silence.  Boy, was that a long ride home...


What in the world?  Had we regressed to the age of eleven?  We'd had a perfectly nice day: a road trip to Richmond, a performance from the Metropolitan Opera, two absolutely dee-lish hamburgers with that fancy Angus beef and bacon and stuff, and now we were interacting like Mitt Romney and Newt Gingrich.  What accounted for all this discord, for heaven's sake?


Later that evening, my wife, far wiser than I, figured out the source of the tension:


It was the vocal writing in Satyagraha.


To his credit, Philip Glass has since conceded that he's learned a lot about writing for voices since Satyagraha.  Lemme tell ya, he had a lot to learn.  Richard Croft in the title role had the best luck in this regard; many of Gandhi's lines lay nicely in the voice and had an appealing floating quality.  Such was not the case for soprano Rachelle Durkin as Miss Schlesen and especially baritone Kim Josephson as Mr. Kallenbach.

These two artists were assigned roles which kept them squawking and barking at the top of their ranges on repeated notes that were sung over and over with no relief.  They gave it their best shot, doing all that technical supporting-stuff singers learn in their formative years:  soft palates raised so high they touched the cerebral cortex; breath management that would blow down any Little Pig's house of bricks; and (I'm guessing) lower body strength of ox-like power.

But no voice can make a pleasing effect when submitted to vocal writing as cruelly obtuse as that.  Look, Beethoven has been panned for two centuries for his vocal writing in the Ninth Symphony and other works, but he was Richard Rogers next to Satyagraha.  Looking back on the afternoon, Ruth and I realized that we became so tense while listening to this strained vocalism that we carried it out of the theater and all the way home, fussing and crabbing over nothing.


So it is with genuine pleasure and intense relief that I am able to report that the vocal writing in Orphée is as expertly handled as it was manhandled (in my humble opinion) in Satyagraha.  The setting of the French text displays a complete facility with the language, with rhythms that effortlessly simulate the flow of native French speakers.  And while challenging, the demands of the vocal lines are entirely conventional.

Divorce lawyers must look elsewhere than the Harrison Opera House to troll for new cases.

And now, a brief commercial message. Remember: my forthcoming book THE OPERA ZOO: SINGERS, COMPOSERS AND OTHER PRIMATES is due out from Kendall Hunt Publishing in just a few days.  It's not available in book stores, so to get a copy please email the publishers at cross@kendallhunt.com.  My editor will contact you with all the details.  Happy reading!

That "Child Prodigy Rant" post: followup and a plug for my book

Holy crap! 

Yesterday's blog post in which I ranted on about child prodigies has gone viral, with tens of thousands of hits in a matter of hours.  If you're looking for it right now, just scroll down to the previous post and get caught up.

My head is spinning!  And not like the little girl in The Exorcist, either - nope: in a good way.

I am truly grateful to all of you who not only took the time to read my thoughts but also posted comments and shared the site with your friends as well.  I now have first-hand experience with the Fearsome Power Of The Internet.  Whew!

Since Sunday's topic appears to have struck a chord with so many, here are some further thoughts, clarifications, and responses to some of the published reader comments.  I'll end by letting you know that I've got a book coming out, naturally hoping that if you enjoy my writing and my humor, you might wish to order a copy.  But back to prodigies:

• For those who find it difficult to grasp the inherent stress imposed upon children when they are thrust upon a national stage (be it via live performance, television or a recording contract):  allow me to refer you to Elaine Aron's magnificent book The Highly Sensitive Child.  Clearly, children with precocious musical gifts are by definition highly sensitive.  This book will bring you up to speed on the emotional and physiological differences between these children and others which the world would classify as "normal".
• My blog post seems to have struck a nerve.  Either in published comments or in messages on Facebook (feel free to friend me, by the way!), many of you expressed gratitude for my having articulated what you've always felt on the subject of child prodigies.  Well, that's just me all over--with my pinky finger on the pulse of the nation...  (har har har)
• HOWEVER:  a distinct minority raised mild objections.  One reader, noting my claim that mature musical expression in prodigies is nothing more than mimicry of adult models, invoked the name of Music History's No. 1 prodigy of all time, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  I was asked, rhetorically (as if there could be no viable answer), who Mozart was imitating when he wrote his remarkable series of childhood symphonies, operas and keyboard works.  Well actually, that's an easy one to answer, available from any standard Mozart biography:  he was imitating the style of Johann Christian Bach.  It is widely known that the galant style of J.C. Bach made a huge impression on the boy Mozart. A fine summary of their relationship is summarized in Adina Portowitz's article on the Bach-Mozart connection.
• And in any case, the works of young Mozart do not reflect the emotional depth and maturity of his later masterworks; they are tidy little examples of technical proficiency and a good ear for graceful invention.  That's all.  
• And, as other readers pointed out, Mozart's exploitation as a touring childhood virtuoso ultimately resulted in an adult with only intermittent professional success and a personal life filled with chaos, illness and general dysfunction.
• Listen, my thousands of new friends, and listen well:  I have nothing against talented children!  I used to be one!  Talented children should make music every day!  My hope is that those kids whose talent is of prodigious dimensions, far above the norm, are protected--repeat--PROTECTED by those who are responsible for their well-being.  It occurs to me that the most fortunate prodigies may be those born into wealthy homes, without the need or desire to turn young musicians into cash cows.  When fame and money come first, tragedy and misery follow.

AND NOW:  PLEASE KEEP READING!

I have a message for all of you who are new to this little blog through Facebook postings and other means:

If you liked that post, please know that I've got a book coming out in a matter of days which just might be up your alley as well.

The title is The Opera Zoo: Singers, Composers and Other Primates.  It's a collection of now-deleted blog posts from the last couple of years in which I touch on a wide range of opera-related subjects, all with that somewhat irreverent humor that seems to be part of my DNA. 

The publisher is Kendall Hunt Publishing and I expect to see the book available by the end of January if not before.  NOTE:  you will not find my book in your local Barnes & Noble or other bookstore.  Listen, I'm not John Grisham, and a book of humorous-slash-insightful essays about the opera world is the textbook definition of a "niche genre".  I'm Captain Niche.  The Niche-Meister.

The way to get your hands on it is to contact my editor, a cool guy named Curtis Ross via email and order direct from the publisher; just click on his name.  We've already nearly sold out the initial printing, but I think they'll be okay with printing more, don't you?

Too many essays and topics in The Opera Zoo to list, but examples include a day in the life of an apprentice opera singer on tour (OY!); a scene from a Mozart opera re-written as the teleplay for an episode of the sitcom Frasier; libretto parodies of Rigoletto, Carmen, Die Walkuere and Madama Butterfly, and lots more.  The book concludes with a journal I kept while a guest artist at an international opera festival in Rome Italy a couple of years ago in which I record my impressions of the city, the food, the people, the food, life at an opera festival, the food, the gelato, the food....

I like food...

So please consider ponying up for my new book!  And keep reading my blog!  And... um... exercise daily, eat more vegetables and call your mother.   (I'm full of good ideas...)

And thanks for all your comments and appreciation for yesterday's post!

About those child opera singers: here's the deal

I'm going to let all you music-lovers in on a little secret:  we professional musicians don't have much use for the phenomenon of the Child Prodigy.  Six year old violinists playing Mendelssohn; ten year old pianists playing Rachmaninov; and especially *shudder* twelve year old girls belting out operatic arias... or country music... or whatever... on national television?  Yeah, it's impressive.  Sort of.  You can keep 'em; I have no interest, especially when it comes to the miniature singers.

You know that NPR program "From The Top", featuring adolescent or pre-adolescent performers stunning us with their "maturity" and precocity?

I am not a devotee of that program.

If you are, that's swell for you.  Enjoy. But most professionals in the classical music arena look askance at pint-sized virtuosi.  So many reasons...

For one thing, the great majority of child performers will eventually crash and burn attempting to make the transition from intuitive tot to analytical adult.  There was once a centipede who was asked, "When you walk, in what order do you move your many legs?"  The poor bastard had never thought about that, and became so self-conscious he never walked again.  This syndrome is the norm for talented kiddies.  Child pianists memorize intuitively, by ear; adult professionals memorize in the framework of an analytical system.  Children who have been learning complicated masterworks without really knowing how they were doing it can fall into a similar state of paralysis.

Furthermore, that "unusual musical maturity" you think you detect in the oh-so-polished phrasing of a Chopin Nocturne or Paganini Etude is not organic maturity at all.  It's apery; it's mimicry; it's the result of carefully imitating some adult's interpretation, be it from the teacher or some recording.  Musical compositions which express profound insights about love, loss and life are beyond the ken of a nine year old and that's just how it is.  Having a good ear is not the same thing as musical insight.

Another problem relating to emerging from the prodigy stage:  child stars become accustomed to being the most successful performer wherever they are.  They win the competitions; they receive the adulation; they are Number One, baby!  They are able to play difficult compositions eighty percent perfectly with little effort.  That in itself poses a problem: when such young musicians go on to major in their instrument at the college or conservatory level, they are too often content to continue achieving 80% perfection with 40% effort.  It's not unusual that they find, to their bewilderment, that they are surpasssed by less gifted students who achieve 95% perfection with 110% effort.  It's the old Hare-vs-Tortoise story applied to the piano.  A few of you may remember a child prodigy of some twenty years ago, a Greek pianist named Dmitri Sgouros.  He made a sensation performing on the "Tonight Show" and playing the Third Piano Concerto of Rachmaninov at age ten or eleven.  My wife knew one of his teachers in America and was privy to the following anecdote:  At age eleven, Sgouros played through the Brahms Piano Sonata in F Minor, a five-movement beast to play, at sight.  He then played through it a second time and pronounced the piece memorized and ready for performance.  Wow!  Gee!  Gasp!  Why, he's another Franz Liszt!

It's now 2012 and Dmitri Sgouros is a musician in this thirties.  Is he the greatest living pianist?  Does he perform to sold-out houses in New York, Chicago and L.A.?  Will he go down in history?  And was his performance of the Brahms F Minor Sonata a performance for the ages?

No, no, no and no.  He's got a website; plays in Greece and so forth--that's nice, I suppose.  See, the reality is that for every Yehudi Menuhin (prodigy who became an all-time great artist), there are one hundred Dmitri Sgouros's whose bright flame dims with age.  (I know that statistic is accurate because I just made it up.)

But as much disdain and eye-rolling weariness as I feel for instrumental prodigies (and I've actually taught a few in my teaching career), it's nothing compared to the scorn I feel for Children Who Sing Opera.


As Joan Rivers would say, can we talk?  Let's get something straight:  opera is to singing as neuro-surgery is to medicine.  No pre-adolescent children should ever do it, and few teen-agers should do much of it.  Yes, yes, I know all about Roberta Peters having made her Metropolitan Opera debut at age sixteen.  Big whoop, don't care.  Until their hormones have finished percolating, children should sing (duh) music written for children: in a children's choir, in school, in church, heck - even in an opera, providing it's a role written for a child. with a child's limitations in mind.

Let me explain.  The best metaphor for allowing children to sing adult operatic literature is found in Little League baseball.  A responsible Little League coach ensures that a ten-year-old pitcher will throw the ball easily, with a fluid, non-stressful pitching motion.  Some specimens in the coaching community, however, can't resist the urge to teach kids to throw trick pitches:  curve balls, sliders, screwballs, and so on.

The problem, of course, is that these pitches place a high degree of stress on bones, muscles and tendons.   However, the muscular-skeletal system of a baseball player in middle school is still a work in progress and, as such, incapable of tolerating such stress without inducing inflammation at best and serious injury at worst.

It's the very same scenario with children singing opera.  The fact is that many college-level voice majors are kept away from the music of Puccini, Verdi and such composers until they enter graduate school.

But here's the worst thing, the thing that really drives me NUTS:  when I try to explain this to non-musicians, NO ONE EVER BELIEVES ME!  ARRRRGGGGHHHH!!  Here are the standard responses I can expect to hear:

"Really?  Well, it sounded fine to me..."

"Oh, you and your doctorate.  You just aren't accustomed to working with younger children, I expect."

"Well, I don't see any problem; he/she certainly seems to enjoy it."

"What's the matter, Glenn - feeling a little jealous?"  (Oh yes, how perceptive of you: I'm eaten up with envy that I shall never appear on "America's Got Talent".  *snort*)

"Well, I know the teacher, and that teacher is supposed to be really good.  I'm sure it's okay in this case."

NO!  No it isn't!  Not for an eleven year old girl singing Musetta's Waltz or "O mio babbino caro"!  Not okay, not okay!  That teacher is either delusional or a hack!  Stop singing opera!  Stop singing opera!  The vocal folds which produce musical tones are a highly delicate, extremely fragile, easily damaged organ.  Adult opera singers are at risk of incurring injury from over-use; what chance do you think Shirley Temple Junior has?  Think about it.  That Tweenie girl singing opera is writing checks her body can't cash, even though, yes, it might sound perfectly lovely to YOUR amateur's ears.  You don't get to hear her ten years later when her instrument has degraded to the point that a career in the opera field is no longer an option.

And my objections aren't limited to the vocal hazards.  Putting a child on television to sing, be it a local, regional, or national audience, is no way to raise a kid.  It's even worse when the TV program is in the format of a competition.  You do understand that a child with an unusually mature voice still has a child's emotional maturity, don't you?  A youngster who has been always been praised for her beautiful voice is swimming with sharks once a Career In Show Business has been launched.  Regardless of how much cash is earned, regardless of the fan letters received or the pride felt by the pushy stage-parents, here's what the child faces:

• Hurtful, snide criticism by the Simon Cowells of the world.
• Losing; losing competitions, losing recording contracts if sales aren't up to snuff; and public rejection for everyone to see, perhaps with TV cameras trained on their faces as someone else's name is announced as the winner, following the trail of tears rolling down their cheeks.  Losing an election for class president is a valuable experience; losing a damn singing contest on TV at a young age is traumatic.
• Being regarded as a freak by other children their own age
• The pressure of doing what they're doing so as not to disappoint the adults in their lives: ambitious parents, the teacher who may be fixated on the vicarious thrill of a student's success; adults with whom they spend most of their time interacting instead of with their chronological peers.

I know there are highly-educated, well-intended private voice teachers out there in your community who "specialize" in the vocal training of children and likely come with any number of glowing endorsements and recommendations.  Here's my recommendation: if your ten year old daughter has a nice voice, do her a favor and let her take piano or guitar lessons.  Then she'll have the solid musical foundation and musicianship skills that will pay dividends when she reaches the age Mother Nature intended for serious vocal study to begin.  If that highly educated private teacher gives her simple songs to sing with a modest range, asking her to perform only in studio recitals, you may just scrape by without doing permanent damage.

I mean, what's your hurry, anyway?  Children sing in church, home and school.  Leave the stage and the recording studio to the big bad grownups.  Thanks.